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Fenelon:  The  Mystic 


James    Mudge, 

Author  of  "  The  Saintly  Call- 
ing,"   "The    B^t  of 
Browning,"  etc. 


CINCINNATI:    JENNINGS    AND    GRAHAM 
NEW     YORK:     EATON      AND      MAINS 


copyright    1906,    by 
Jbnnings  and  Graham 


a  wise  mother  of  children, 
a  faithful  missionary  in  india, 
An  efficient  worker  in  many  Churches. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IViicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.archive.org/details/fenelonmysticOOmudgiala 


A  WORD  TO  THE  READER 

There  have  been  many  lives  of  Fenelon.  Four 
were  brought  out  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  two 
quite  extensive  ones  were  issued  as  recently  as  1901. 
In  a  few  cases  they  have  been  written  in  a  spirit  of 
cold,  supercilious  disparagement  and  cynical  com- 
ment by  people  who  evidently  had  no  experience 
which  would  qualify  them  to  understand  the  char- 
acter they  rashly  attempted  to  portray.  But  the 
endeavor  to  pull  Fenelon  down  from  the  pedestal 
on  which  he  has  so  long  stood  can  not  succeed.  So 
long  as  his  own  writings  remain  to  bear  testimony 
to  the  high  qualities  of  his  mind  and  soul,  his  fame 
is  secure.  It  is  the  chief  regret  of  the  present  writer 
that,  owing  to  the  restricted  size  of  the  book,  he  has 
not  been  able  to  give  more  of  Fenelon's  own  words. 
The  reader  is  recommended  to  procure  the  "Spirit- 
ual Letters"  of  Fenelon,  published  in  two  volumes 
by  E.  P.  Button  &  Co.,  New  York.^ 

iTbis  edition  of  the  "I<etters,"  edited  by  H.  L.  Sidney  Lear,  is 
also  published  by  the  Longmans  of  I.ondon.  There  is  an  abridged 
edition,  in  paper,  for  fifteen  cents,  for  sale  by  George  W.  McCalla, 
Philadelphia,  who  also  publishes  P6nelon's  "  Christian  Counsel," 
"Spiritual  Letters"  of  Madame  Guyon,  "Life  of  Dr.  John  Tauler," 
and  other  similar  books.  The  five  most  important  Lives  of  Fene- 
lon are  by  B.  K.  Sanders,  Longmans,  London,  1901 ;  by  Viscouot 
St.  Cyres,  Methuen  &  Co.,  London,  1901 ;  by  H.  L.  Sidney  Lear,  RiT- 
ingtons,  London,  1877;  by  Dr.  T.  C.  Upham,  Harpers,  Mew  York, 
1846;  and  by  Charles  Butler,  Bsq.,  John  Murray,  London,  1819.  / 


6  A  Word  to  thb  Reader. 

It  is  not  claimed  that  Fenelon  was  wholly  with- 
out faults,  or  was  in  all  respects  ahead  of  his  times. 
How  could  that  be  expected  ?  He  took,  in  the  main, 
of  course,  the  Roman  Catholic  view  in  the  questions 
that  arose  regarding  heresy  and  the  general  affairs 
of  the  Church.  It  is  not  necessary  to  defend  him 
for  this.  We  are  concerned,  in  studying  such  per- 
sons, not  so  much  with  their  dogmatic  opinions  and 
beliefs,  the  result  of  their  environment,  as  with 
the  spirit  of  their  lives,  their  attainments  in  holi- 
ness, and  the  light  which  they  can  shed  on  the  best 
means  of  growth  in  grace.  It  is  believed  that  the 
present  volume  will  be  found  helpful  to  this  end. 
The  type  of  piety  exemplified  by  Fenelon,  Fletcher, 
Faber,  and  others  of  this  sort,  does  not  appeal  with 
equal  force  to  all,  owing  to  difference  of  mental  and 
physical  constitution.  But  all,  whatever  their  tem- 
perament, can  get  only  good  by  contemplating  such 
an  example  as  is  presented  in  these  pages.  They 
can  not  feel  the  quick  throbs  of  his  deeply  loving 
heart,  and  note  the  sincerity  of  purpose  with  which 
he  served  his  dear  Redeemer,  without  being  stimu- 
lated in  their  zeal,  and  helped  to  walk,  in  their  own 
way,  more  worthily  of  the  vocation  with  which  they 
themselves  are  called.  That  this  may  indeed  be  the 
outcome  for  every  reader  of  the  following  chapters, 
is  the  earnest  prayer  of  the  author. 

JAMES  MUDGB. 
Jamaica  Pi.ain,  Mass. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 


Page 


I.  From  Youth  to  Manhood,  -        -        -        9 

II.  The  Setting  of  the  Picture,  -         -           45 

III.  Preceptor  to  the  Prince,  -         -         -       67 

IV.  Mysticism  and  Quietism,    -  -         -            94 
V.  The  Great  Conflict,  -         -         -     120 

VI.  The  Good  Archbishop,       -  -         -          159 

VII.  The  Spiritual  Letters,  -        -         -     i93 


Fenelon:   The  Mystic 

CHAPTER  I. 

FROM  YOUTH  TO  MANHOOD. 

Christian  perfection,  or  the  highest  possibili- 
ties of  Christian  grace  and  growth,  is  a  theme  of 
intense  interest  to  every  true  lover  of  the  Lord. 
There  are  many  ways  of  promoting  it,  widely  dif- 
fering in  their  merits  and  their  helpfulness.  With- 
out disparaging  other  methods,  it  may  be  safely 
said  that  nothing  can  be  better  than  example.  Chris- 
tianity centers  around  a  person;  and  personal  ex- 
perience perennially  appeals.  Better  than  abstract 
discussion  is  concrete  practice.  More  profitable 
than  speculation  and  controversy  is  an  actual  life 
on  highest  levels.  There  is  also  a  large  advantage 
in  beholding  such  a  life  in  another  age  and  land 
and  Church,  thus  noting  how  God  can  magnify  and 
fulfill  Himself  in  very  diverse  circumstances,  and 
amid  intellectual  influences  that  to  us  are  quite  ob- 
noxious. 


lo  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

We  invite,  therefore,  the  attention  of  the 
thoughtful  reader  to  a  man  who  presents  one  of  the 
most  perfect  types  of  human  purity  that  the  world 
has  ever  seen ;  one  who  for  two  hundred  years  has 
stood  among  the  choicest  few  of  those  universally 
esteemed  to  be  authorities  in  spiritual  things ;  one 
endowed  with  a  luster  which  the  lapse  of  time  can 
not  tarnish, — a  luster  far  brighter  than  can  be  be- 
stowed by  mere  worldly  honors  or  temporal  pros- 
perity, however  high.  He  not  only  had  a  heart  filled 
with  the  love  of  God  and  glowing  with  pure  devo- 
tion, but  also  a  mind  capable  of  the  closest  analysis 
and  the  keenest  discrimination.  He  was  not  only  a 
saint,  but  also  a  scholar  and  a  genius,  an  original 
thinker  as  well  as  a  pursuer  of  holiness.  Such  com- 
binations are  very  rare.  His  thirst  for  perfection 
has  probably  never  been  surpassed.  Seldom,  if  ever, 
has  such  a  remarkable  combination  of  high  quali- 
ties tabernacled  in  the  flesh.  He  had  both  modesty 
and  majesty,  both  simplicity  and  sublimity,  uncon- 
querable firmness  in  duty,  unsurpassed  meekness  in 
society;  he  was  equally  eminent  for  piety  and  po- 
liteness, for  morals  and  manners;  he  was  sympa- 
thetic and  chivalrous,  severe  to  himself,  indulgent 
to  others.  In  the  midst  of  a  voluptuous  court  he 
practiced  the  virtues  of  an  anchorite;  with  the 
revenues  of  a  prince  at  command  he  hardly  allowed 
himself  ordinary  comforts.  His  abilities  awaken 
our  admiration,  his  afflictions  excite  our  compassion. 
Bom  among  the  nobility  of  earth,  he  resisted  the 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  ii 

blandishments  of  earthly  pomp,  and  became  crowned 
with  the  far  higher  nobility  of  heaven.  He  was 
truly  humble  and  truly  heroic;  good  as  well  as 
great;  skillful  in  teaching,  wise  in  counsel,  master 
of  an  elegant  style  both  in  composition  and  dis- 
course ;  faithful  to  his  friends  and  kind  to  his  foes ; 
devoted  to  his  native  land,  generous  to  his  family,  a 
man  of  peace  yet  ready  to  fight  for  the  faith,  true  to 
his  convictions,  tolerant  toward  those  of  other  be- 
liefs, tenderly  affectionate,  vigorously  diligent;  the 
glory  of  his  country,  the  joy  of  mankind,  the  be- 
loved of  the  Lord.  He  had  an  intense  nature,  and 
was,  as  has  been  said,  "One  whose  religion  must 
be  more  loving  than  love,  his  daily  life  more  kind 
than  kindness,  his  words  truer  than  truth  itself." 
Lamartine  calls  him  "beautiful  as  a  Raphael's  St. 
John  leaning  on  the  bosom  of  Christ."  He  had  the 
imagination  of  a  woman  for  dreaming  of  heaven, 
and  the  soul  of  a  man  for  subduing  the  earth.  The 
especially  feminine  qualities  were  prominent  in  him, 
yet  he  strikes  no  one  as  effeminate,  and  when  he 
felt  himself  set  for  the  defense  of  the  truth  he 
showed  a  power  that  greatly  surprised  his  enemies. 
"His  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart,"  "alone 
with  the  Alone."  And  yet  he  was  so  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  welfare  of  France  and  his  fellow-men 
that  he  has  been  called  a  politician ;  statesman  would 
be  the  word  more  befitting  the  facts,  for  his  ideas  as 
to  the  measures  and  policies  necessary  to  make  the 
land  prosperous  were  in  the  main  very  wise,  and  he 


12  Fenei.on:  Th^  Mystic 

had  no  personal  ends  to  serve.  In  whatever  ca- 
pacity we  consider  him — poet,  orator,  moralist, 
metaphysician,  politician,  instructor,  bishop,  friend, 
persecuted  Christian — ^he  excites  our  keenest  inter- 
est, our  warmest  admiration.  He  greatly  desired  to 
please  every  one,  and  succeeded  so  far  as  circum- 
stances allowed ;  but  the  desire  was  held  in  strictest 
control  by  a  strong  sense  of  duty,  which  compelled 
him  at  times  to  do  and  say  things  most  unacceptable 
to  many.  He  was  no  courtier,  no  flatterer,  he  could 
not  make  his  own  interests  the  first  consideration. 
He  was  a  prophet  in  Gomorrah,  charged  with  a  mes- 
sage which  pressed  upon  him  for  utterance,  and  for 
the  delivery  of  which  the  time  was  short.  At  the 
court  of  Louis  XIV — a  spot  above  all  others  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  perhaps,  in  that  century,  disgraced 
by  selfishness,  hypocrisy,  and  intrigue — ^he  bears 
not  a  little  resemblance  to  a  seraph  sent  on  a  divine 
mission  to  the  shades  of  the  lost.  There  is  endless 
fascination  in  his  story.  He  was  not  without  faults, 
but  his  faults  were  those  of  his  age ;  his  virtues  were 
his  own.  He  turned  a  haughty,  irritable,  overbear- 
ing young  prince,  an  incipient  Caesar  Borgia,  into 
the  mildest,  most  docile,  obedient  of  men.  He 
possessed  his  soul  in  peace  amid  provocations  that 
would  have  been  far  too  much  for  most  of  us. 
Neither  public  disgrace  nor  personal  bereavement 
had  power  to  embitter  him.  He  listened  to  the  voice 
of  God  within  him,  and  marched  straight  on,  breast 
forward.    In  the  language  of  Herder,  "His  Church 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  13 

indeed  canonized  him  not,  but  humanity  has."  He 
is  a  saint  in  the  eyes  of  multitudes  not  attracted  by 
official  sanctity ;  an  apostle  of  liberty  that  dared  with- 
stand the  Grand  Monarque ;  a  martyr  spending  half 
a  life  in  exile,  through  the  machinations  of  a  court 
faction  which  dreaded  his  incorruptible  goodness. 
"Being  dead,  he  yet  speaketh."  "One  of  the  noblest 
men  who  ever  lived,"  says  Dr.  John  Henry  Kurtz, 
the  distinguished  Church  historian.  Joseph  de 
Maistre  exclaims :  "Do  we  wish  to  paint  ideal  great- 
ness? Let  us  try  to  imagine  something  that  sur- 
passes Fenelon — we  shall  not  succeed."  Let  us, 
then,  putting  aside  imagination,  endeavor  to  rescue 
from  the  musty  record  of  the  misty  past,  a  lifelike 
image  of  this  many-sided,  multiple,  versatile  per- 
sonality. 


Francois  dk  Sai,ignac  de  jjl  Mothe  Fenelon 
was  born  August  6,  1651,  at  the  castle,  or  chateau, 
of  Fenelon,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of 
Sarlat,  in  the  department  of  Southern  France,  for- 
merly called  Perigord,  now  Dordogne,  north  of 
the  river  Garonne.  The  De  Salignacs  were  of  an 
ancient  and  distinguished  family,  counting  in  their 
long  pedigree  many  of  the  best  names  of  France — 
bishops,  governors,  generals,  and  ambassadors.  But 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  they  have  derived  more  luster 
from  the  single  name  of  the  Archbishop  of  Cam- 
brai  than  from  all  the  rest  who  through  several 


14  Fenklon:  The  Mystic 

centuries  filled  lofty  stations  in  camp  and  court  and 
Church. 

Very  little  is  known  about  his  parents  or  his 
early  life.  Pons  de  Salignac,  Count  of  La  Mothe 
Fenelon,  father  of  Francis,  was  twice  married,  hav- 
ing fourteen  children  by  his  first  wife  and  three  by 
his  second.  The  eldest  of  the  three  was  Francis. 
His  mother,  Mademoiselle  Louise  de  la  Cropte  de 
Saint-Arbre,  sister  of  a  celebrated  lieutenant  who 
served  under  Marshal  Turenne,  is  said  to  have  been 
unusually  pious,  which  we  can  well  believe,  and  to 
have  perpetuated  some  of  her  other  traits  in  her 
famous  son.  From  his  father's  side  he  doubtless  in- 
herited his  diplomatic  temperament  and  a  goodly 
degree  of  worldly  wisdom.  His  peculiar  situation 
in  the  household  could  hardly  fail  to  have  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  his  character.  The  numerous 
grown-up  sons  and  daughters  of  his  father's  first 
marriage  took  umbrage  at  the  second;  hence  the 
precocious  and  sensitive  child  had  abundant  occasion 
to  practice  all  possible  arts  of  ingratiation  to  obtain 
forgiveness  for  having  intruded  his  existence  upon 
them,  and  to  make  it  pleasant  for  his  mother.  His 
constitution  was  delicate,  and  he  had  a  sickly  child- 
hood; once  at  least  in  his  early  days  his  life  was 
despaired  of,  and  he  only  recovered  to  be  for  years 
the  victim  of  sleeplessness  and  kindred  ailments. 
He  was  'he  idol  of  his  old  father,  who,  recognizing 
his  unusual  talents,  took  special  pains  with  his  edu- 
cation.   It  was  intrusted  at  first  to  a  private  pre- 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  15 

ceptor,  who  seems  to  have  been  well  fitted  for  his 
task,  and  gave  to  his  pupil  in  a  few  years  a  better 
knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin  than  is  commonly 
obtained  at  so  early  an  age,  doubtless  laying  thus 
the  foundation  of  his  exquisitely  finished  style.  At 
twelve  he  left  the  paternal  roof  for  the  neighboring 
University  of  Cahors  (a  town  about  sixty  miles 
north  of  Toulouse,  containing  now  an  obelisk  of 
Fenelon),  where  he  pursued  for  some  three  years 
philosophical  and  philological  studies  and  took  his 
degrees  in  the  arts. 

His  father  probably  died  about  this  time,  as  we 
hear  nothing  further  of  him,  and  his  uncle,  the  Mar- 
quis Antoine  de  Fenelon,  who  had  lost  his  own  son, 
acted  henceforth  as  the  father  of  his  nephew.  It 
was  a  most  happy  circumstance,  for  the  marquis 
was  deeply  religious  and  of  an  unsullied  private 
life,  as  well  as  very  independent  in  his  character. 
The  Grand  Conde,  greatest  general  of  his  time,  de- 
scribed him  as  "equally  at  home  in  society,  war, 
and  the  council  chamber."  When  M.  de  Harlai 
was  nominated  to  the  Archbishopric  of  Paris,  the 
marquis  remarked  to  him,  "There  is  a  wide  differ- 
ence, my  Right  Reverend  Lord,  between  the  day 
when  the  nomination  for  such  an  office  brings  to 
the  party  the  compliments  of  the  whole  kingdom, 
and  the  day  on  which  he  appears  before  God  to  ren- 
der Him  an  account  of  his  administration ;"  a  reflec- 
tion which,  although  much  needed,  could  not  have 
been  very  agreeable  to  De  Harlai,  for  he  was  a  no- 


i6  Feneilon:  The  Mystic. 

torious  evil  liver,  who  introduced  every  species  of 
corruption  into  the  administration  of  his  diocese, 
and  scandalized  all  by  the  iniquities  also  of  his  pri- 
vate life.  Another  indication  of  the  marquis's  truly 
noble  quality  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  when  M.  Olier, 
the  celebrated  founder  of  the  Congregation  of  St. 
Sulpice,  wished  to  form  an  association  of  gentle- 
men whose  courage  was  past  impeachment,  to  bind 
themselves  with  an  oath  neither  to  accept  any  chal- 
lenge nor  act  the  part  of  second  in  any  duel — that 
the  practice  of  duieling  might  thus  be  checked — he 
asked  M.  de  Fenelon  to  take  the  post  of  president 
of  the  association,  being  convinced  that  there  was 
no  one  whose  reputation  was  more  firmly  estab- 
lished both  in  court  and  camp. 

Under  the  guidance,  then,  of  this  admirable  rela- 
tive, who  was  so  exceptionally  well  fitted  by  char- 
acter, position,  and  situation  to  give  his  nephew  the 
best  possible  start  in  life,  and  who  tenderly  loved 
him,  young  Francis  came  to  Paris  in  1666,  at  the 
age  of  fifteen.  It  was  not,  of  course,  the  Paris  of 
the  present  day;  but  even  then  it  was  a  great  city, 
reaching  back  for  its  beginning  to  the  Roman  times, 
and  recognized  as  the  seat  of  government  for  at 
least  a  thousand  years.  Under  Henry  of  Navarre 
( 1 589-1 610)  great  improvements  had  been  made, 
and  by  the  accession  of  Louis  XIV — who  began  to 
reign  nominally  in  1643,  at  the  age  of  five,  but  really 
took  charge  of  the  kingdom  in  1661 — through  the 
completion  of  several  bridges,  roads,  and  quays. 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  17 

and  the  erection  of  various  public  and  private  pal- 
aces, a  new  face  had  been  put  on  the  old  city.  It 
was  already  the  focus  of  European  civilization, 
learning,  and  eloquence,  as  well  as  the  center  of  all 
that  was  most  attractive  and  distinguished  in 
France.  The  best  institutions  were  there,  the  best 
opportunities  for  advancement,  the  highest  privi- 
leges and  advantages  of  every  sort;  so  that  to  it 
naturally  gravitated  all  who  wished  to  make  the 
most  of  themselves  under  the  eye  of  that  Grand 
Monarch  whose  favor  was  life.  Francis,  therefore, 
no  doubt  counted  himself  greatly  blessed  at  this 
change,  and  entered  upon  his  Parisian  life — which 
was  to  last  thirty-one  years — with  very  high,  am- 
bitious hopes.  His  guardian  sent  him  for  two  years 
to  the  College  du  Plessis,  then  under  the  rule  of 
M.  Gobinet,  a  first-rate  principal.  There  he  speedily 
distinguished  himself  as  a  scholar,  and  he  also  gave 
such  tokens  of  possessing  the  gift  of  eloquence  that 
before  he  was  sixteen  he  was  put  forward  to  preach 
to  an  admiring  audience.  It  is,  perhaps,  worth  not- 
ing that  Bossuet — who  was  so  soon  to  be  closely  as- 
sociated with  Fenelon,  at  first  in  friendship,  then  in 
fierce  hostility — also  preached  at  the  same  age,  with 
similar  applause,  before  a  brilliant  assemblage  in 
Paris. 

What  was  the  next  step?  A  noble  under  Louis 
XIV  had  two  possible  careers  open  to  him,  and  only 
two ;  they  were  the  army  and  the  Church.  It  is  not 
probable  that  the  matter  was  long  debated,  if  at  all. 


i8  FiNEi^ON:  The  Mystic. 

in  Francis'  case.  Everything  about  him,  his  gifts  of 
speech,  his  high  scholarship,  his  deep  piety,  his 
rather  deUcate  health,  pointed  to  the  clerical  voca- 
tion, and  there  can  be  no  question  but  this  was  with 
him  a  divine  calling,  to  which  doubtless  his  heart 
gave  full  assent.  So  he  was  placed,  in  1688,  at  the 
seminary  of  St.  Sulpice  to  be  trained  for  the  priest- 
hood. 

Since  he  was  to  spend  no  less  than  ten  happy 
years,  in  the  formative  period  of  seventeen  to  twen- 
ty-seven, in  connection  with  this  institution,  it  may 
be  well  that  we  say  a  few  words  about  it  and  its 
director.  It  was  the  principal  fruit  of  the  great 
Catholic  revival  at  the  beginning  of  the  century, 
the  embodiment  of  all  the  force  of  that  movement — 
a  movement  marked  by  very  earnest  piety  and  a 
somewhat  unusual  combination  of  emotionalism  and 
asceticism.  It  was  founded  by  a  group  of  devoted 
men  sprung  from  the  upper-middle  class ;  and  chief 
among  them  was  M.  Olier,  a  man  justly  celebrated 
for  his  saintly  life.  He  was  appointed  in  1642  to 
the  parish  of  St.  Sulpice  when  it  was  noted  as  the 
most  depraved  quarter  of  Paris.  He  labored  unre- 
mittingly and  very  successfully  to  reform  this  un- 
promising flock,  and  the  young  priests  who  were 
associated  with  him  in  his  task  constituted  the  nu- 
cleus of  the  seminary  and  community  of  St.  Sul- 
pice. The  necessary  building  to  house  the  institu- 
tion, to  the  establishment  of  which  Monsieur  Olier 
gave  himself  with  highest  enthusiasm,  was  com- 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  19 

pleted  in  1652 — a  square  edifice  capable  of  receiv- 
ing one  hundred  inmates.  This  became  the  center  of 
a  most  wholesome  and  inspiring  activity. 

The  founder  had  a  very  high  ideal  of  sacerdotal 
character.  He  would  not  admit  any  who  embraced 
the  sacred  calling  from  considerations  of  ambition 
or  expediency,  and  those  admitted  were  subjected 
to  the  sharpest  kind  of  tests.  Whatever  their  birth 
or  condition  they  were  required  to  perform  the 
menial  duties  of  the  house,  and  to  mingle  on  terms 
of  absolute  equality  with  their  fellow-students.  The 
complete  immolation  of  self  was  set  as  the  para- 
mount aim  before  those  who  looked  forward  to  holy 
orders.  The  will  must  be  entirely  surrendered. 
The  good  priest  must  become  the  model  of  all  the 
virtues.  All  earthly  interests  and  ties  must  be  re- 
nounced. The  closest  union  with  the  Divine  was 
to  be  cultivated.  A  very  literal  interpretation  of 
the  teaching  of  the  Master  was  followed.  The 
pupils  were  urged  to  study  the  Gospels  till  they 
could  bring  the  Divine  life  before  them  at  any  mo- 
ment in  a  series  of  mental  pictures  which  should 
help  them  in  the  decision  of  all  perplexing  questions 
of  duty,  and  were  exhorted  to  keep  themselves  in 
such  a  disposition  that  meditation  on  that  model 
life  would  never  seem  strange  or  demand  a  violent 
mental  revulsion  whatever  their  outward  circum- 
stances might  be.  While  the  ceremonies  of  the 
Church  were  observed  with  minute  exactness,  and 
occasional  austerities  were  practiced,  and  learning 


20  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

was  not  neglected,  the  main  thought  was  that  the 
perfection  of  personal  character  must  be  secured  at 
all  costs ;  the  world  was  to  be  abandoned,  the  flesh 
crucified,  the  devil  in  all  his  forms  resisted,  and 
lessons  of  humility,  obedience,  and  charity  were  to 
be  most  carefully  learned.  They  were  taught  that 
in  the  silence  which  succeeds  the  struggle  of  self- 
abandonment  they  would  find  Christ  coming  to 
them — the  Christ  who  had  borne  all  and  under- 
stood all,  and  whose  presence  was  far  more  worth 
having  than  the  prizes  they  had  missed  or  put  away. 
It  can  well  be  believed  that  this  wholly  conse- 
crated man,  the  first  superior  of  St.  Sulpice,  won 
to  himself  so  large  a  share  of  personal  aflfection 
and  loyalty  from  his  students  that  when  he  was  re- 
moved from  its  care  many  feared  its  collapse.  But 
this  was  not  to  be.  A  suitable  successor  was  found 
in  M.  Louis  Tronson,  a  man  every  way  as  capable 
as  the  first  founder — indeed  more  learned  in  the- 
ology— and  fully  disposed  to  continue  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  institution  as  already  laid  down ;  a  man 
who  coveted  no  external  recognition,  joined  in  no 
race  for  preferment,  but  gave  himself  with  single- 
ness of  eye  to  the  great  work  intrusted  to  him  by 
the  Master.  It  was  to  his  care  that  Francis  Fenelon 
was  committed,  and  he  speedily  won  the  enthusiastic 
affection  of  the  young  man.  In  a  few  years  Fene- 
lon writes  concerning  his  teacher  to  Pope  Clement 
XI  as  follows:  "Never  have  I  seen  his  equal  for 
piety  and  prudence,  for  love  of  justice  and  insight 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  21 

into  character.  I  glory  in  the  thought  that  I  was 
brought  up  under  his  wing."  Fenelon  was  evidently 
one  of  the  Abbe  Tronson's  favorites,  for  he  was  a 
favorite  with  everybody,  and  all  could  see  in  the 
brilliant  youth  a  promise  that  would  do  honor  to 
those  who  had  a  share  in  his  development.  A  high 
degree  of  confidence  was  given  and  received  on  both 
sides.  Francis  wrote  to  his  uncle,  in  a  burst  of 
gratitude,  one  day:  "I  earnestly  desire  to  be  able 
to  tell  you  some  part  of  all  that  passes  between  M. 
Tronson  and  me ;  but  indeed,  Monsieur,  I  know  not 
how  to  do  so.  I  find  I  can  be  much  more  explicit 
with  him  than  with  you,  nor  would  it  be  easy  to 
describe  the  degree  of  union  we  have  reached.  If 
you  could  hear  our  conversation  you  would  not 
know  your  pupil,  and  you  would  see  that  God  has 
very  marvelously  helped  on  the  work  which  you  be- 
gun. My  health  does  not  improve,  which  would 
be  a  great  trial  to  me  if  I  were  not  learning  how  to 
comfort  myself."  This  was  very  beautiful,  very 
delightful,  and  though  such  complete  dominance  of 
one  personality  by  another  is  not  devoid  of  danger, 
the  results  in  this  case  appear  to  have  justified  the 
experiment.  Francis'  early  bent  to  deep  piety  was 
greatly  intensified  during  these  years,  and  his  views 
of  disinterested  or  perfect  love,  so  strongly  brought 
out  in  later  times,  were  scarcely  more  than  the  nat- 
ural evolution  of  the  thoughts  and  habits  drilled  into 
him  during  this  formative  period.  He  greatly  en- 
joyed this  home  of  piety  and  study.    His  love  for 


22  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

the  seminary  never  decayed.  He  declared  on  his 
death-bed  that  he  knew  of  no  institution  more  ven- 
erable or  more  apostolic. 

It  was  while  at  the  seminary  that  Fenelon 
thought  he  had  a  call  to  the  mission  field.  The 
congregation  of  St.  Sulpice  had  a  large  missionary 
establishment  at  Montreal,  and  many  of  the  stu- 
dents from  the  Paris  house  had  gone  thither.  It 
was  natural,  with  his  intense  unworldliness,  that 
he  should  wish  to  follow  in  their  footsteps,  and  in 
one  of  his  descent  it  would  not  be  surprising  if 
the  love  of  adventure  was  unconsciously  mingled 
with  a  more  religious  ambition  to  show  his  love  for 
the  Savior  by  doing  a  great  work  for  Him  in  a  diffi- 
cult field.  How  many  have  had  these  longings,  but 
have  been  providentially  prevented  from  carrying 
them  out!  In  Fenelon's  case  difficulties  at  once 
sprung  up.  His  uncle,  the  Marquis  Antoine, 
strongly  objected  on  account  of  the  delicacy  of  his 
constitution,  and  another  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Sar- 
lat,  coincided  with  this  opinion.  A  letter  on  the 
subject  to  the  bishop  from  M.  Tronson,  dated  Feb- 
ruary, 1667,  says,  "His  strong,  persisting  inclina- 
tion, the  firmness  of  his  resolution,  and  the  purity 
of  his  intentions  have  made  me  feel  that  they  de- 
served attention,  and  led  me  to  give  you  as  exact 
a  report  as  may  be  of  our  action  in  the  matter." 
The  teacher  had  done  his  very  best  to  dissuade  the 
youth  from  his  purpose.  "I  have  told  him  plainly 
that  if  he  can  calm  his  longings  and  be  quiet,  he 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  2$ 

might,  by  going  on  with  his  studies  and  spiritual 
training,  become  more  fitted  to  work  usefully  here- 
after for  the  Church."  He  adds,  "I  perceive  too 
confirmed  a  resolution  to  have  much  hope  of 
change."  The  feelings  called  out  were  so  strong 
that  persuasion  seemed  useless,  and  so  the  teacher 
appealed  to  the  authority  of  the  guardians;  which 
proved  sufficient  to  stop  the  rash  enterprise. 

But  the  missionary  impulse  still  burned  strongly 
m  the  breast  of  this  enthusiastic  youth,  and  it  burst 
forth  again  a  few  years  later.  He  received  the 
tonsure,  and  entered  holy  orders  in  1675,  at  the  age 
of  twenty- four,  and  went  for  a  while  to  work  in  the 
diocese  of  his  uncle,  the  Bishop  of  Sarlat.  It  was 
at  this  time  that  his  thoughts  were  turned  to  the 
Levant.  A  letter  of  October  9,  1675,  sets  forth 
somewhat  rhapsodically  his  excited  feelings:  "I 
long  to  seek  out  that  Areopagus  whence  St.  Paul 
preached  the  unknown  God  to  heathen  sages.  .  .  . 
Neither  will  I  forget  thee,  O  island  consecrated  by 
the  heavenly  visions  of  the  beloved  disciple!  O 
blessed  Patmos,  I  will  hasten  to  kiss  the  footsteps 
left  on  thee  by  the  apostle,  and  to  imagine  heaven 
open  to  my  gaze!  .  .  .  Already  I  see  schism 
healed;  East  and  West  reunited;  Asia  awaking  to 
the  light  after  her  long  sleep ;  the  Holy  Land,  once 
trodden  by  our  Savior's  feet  and  watered  by  his 
blood,  delivered  from  profaners  and  filled  with  new 
glory;  the  children  of  Abraham,  more  numerous 
than  the  stars,  now  scattered  over  the  face  of  the 


34  F^nelon:  The  Mystic. 

earth,  gathered  from  all  her  quarters  to  confess  the 
Christ  they  crucified,  and  to  rise  again  with  him." 
This  was  decidedly  visionary,  and  somewhat  over- 
wrought ;  but  it  shows  at  least  a  heart  on  fire  to  do 
something  extraordinary  for  God,  and  this  he  had 
at  all  periods  of  his  life.  He  did  not  go  to  Greece 
and  Palestine,  abandoning  the  project  in  deference 
to  the  wishes  of  his  family,  to  whom  he  was  ex- 
tremely reluctant  to  give  pain.  It  was  a  romantic 
dream  rather  than  a  true  vocation. 

It  is  thought  by  some  that  he  really  went  to 
Montreal  at  a  later  date.  The  Correspondance  Lit- 
teraire  of  July  25,  1863,*  gives  a  letter  from  the 
archives  of  the  French  Ministry  of  Marine  in  the 
handwriting  of  Colbert,  the  great  Finance  Minister 
of  IvOuis  XIV,  who  also  had  charge  of  the  depart- 
ment of  commerce,  dated  in  1675,  to  Frontenac, 
Governor  of  Canada,  in  which  Louis  XIV  says: 
"I  have  blamed  the  action  of  Abbe  Fenelon,  and 
have  ordered  him  not  to  return  to  Canada.  But 
I  ought  to  say  to  you  that  it  was  difficult  to  institute 
a  criminal  proceeding  against  him  or  oblige  the 
priests  of  the  seminary  of  St.  Sulpice  at  Montreal 
to  testify  against  him;  and  it  was  necessary  to  re- 
mit the  case  to  his  bishop  or  the  grand  vicar  to 
punish  him  by  ecclesiastical  penalties,  or  to  arrest 
him  and  send  him  back  to  France  by  the  first  ship." 
There  was  not  then  in  France  any  other  abbe  of 

1  Quoted  In  The  American  Presbyterian  and  Theological  Review 
for  October,  1863,  page  674,  and  also  in  McClintock  and  Strong's 
Cyclopedia,  Vol.  Ill,  page  529. 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  -25 

that  name,  so  far  as  is  known.  Somewhat  confirma- 
tory of  it  is  the  fact  that  Appleton's  Cyclopedia,  in 
its  account  of  the  Society  of  St.  Sulpice  says,  "In 
1668  the  Sulpicians,  Frangois  de  Fenelon  and 
Claude  Trouve,  founded  the  first  Iroquois  mission 
at  the  western  extremity  of  Lake  Ontario,  but  their 
labors  were  confined  principally  to  the  Indians  near 
Montreal."  The  dates'  do  not  harmonize;  but  it 
may  be  that,  in  some  irregular  way  that  did  not 
commend  itself  to  the  authorities,  our  hero  was 
for  a  time  in  Canada ;  but  if  so,  it  is  very  singular 
that  it  left  so  little  trace  upon  his  life. 

He  gave  himself  for  some  three  years  after  his 
ordination  to  labors  in  the  parish  of  St.  Sulpice, 
living  still  at  the  seminary,  and  endeavoring  to 
spread  the  light  of  his  faith  among  the  poor  wher- 
ever he  could  reach  them  best,  whether  in  prisons 
and  hospitals  or  their  own  quarters.  It  was  good 
training  for  him  in  many  ways,  enlarging  his  sym- 
pathies, deepening  his  views  of  life,  and  bringing 
him  into  touch  with  children  as  well  as  women. 
Doubtless  he  gathered  in  these  years — for  he  had 
quick  powers  of  observation  and  a  very  active  mind 
— much  of  that  amazing  knowledge  concerning  these 
classes  which  surprised  his  friends  when  he  came 
subsequently  to  pour  forth  in  letters  or  books  the 
wisest  of  counsels  on  education  and  kindred  topics. 
M.  Languet,  cure  of  the  parish  at  this  time,  was 
said  to  distribute  more  than  a  million  francs  in  alms 
yearly,  while  his  own  room  was  furnished  with 


26  Fenei^on:  The  Mystic. 

nothing  more  than  a  coarse  bed  and  two  straw 
chairs.  Under  such  guidance  Fenelon  could  not 
fail  to  learn  many  useful  lessons,  and  to  become 
still  more  completely  fitted  for  the  great  career 
which  was  soon  to  open  before  him. 

It  was  in  1678  that  Fenelon,  while  attending 
quietly  to  his  duties  at  the  parish  of  St.  Sulpice, 
preaching  on  Sundays  and  visiting  among  the  poor 
during  the  week,  received  the  important  appoint- 
ment of  superior  to  the  community  called  the  Nou-^ 
velles  Catholiques,  or  New  Catholics.  He  was 
twenty-seven  at  this  time,  and  had  developed  into  a 
very  lovable,  charming,  attractive,  and  every  way 
promising  young  man.  His  high  birth,  solid  educa- 
tion, brilliant  parts,  spotless  life,  eloquence  of 
speech,  and  influential  friends,  all  tended  to  bring 
him  forward  into  the  public  eye.  The  words  of 
the  Chancellor  d'Aguesseau  on  Fenelon,  found  in 
the  memoirs  of  the  life  of  his  father,  although  ap- 
plying perhaps  in  fullest  measure  a  little  later,  may 
be  inserted  here,  as  showing  what  it  must  have  been 
felt,  by  discerning  observers,  he  would  erelong  be- 
come. 

"Fenelon,"  says  the  chancellor,  "was  one  of 
those  uncommon  men  who  are  destined  to  give  luster 
to  their  age ;  and  who  do  equal  honor  to  human  na- 
ture by  their  virtues,  and  to  literature  by  their 
superior  talent.  He  was  affable  in  his  deportment 
and  luminous  in  his  discourse,  the  peculiar  quali- 
ties of  which  were  a  rich,  delicate,  and  powerful 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  27 

imagination,  but  which  never  let  its  power  be  felt. 
His  eloquence  had  more  of  mildness  in  it  than  of 
vehemence;  and  he  triumphed  as  much  by  the 
charms  of  his  conversation  as  by  the  superiority  of 
his  talents.  He  always  brought  himself  to  the  level 
of  his  company;  he  never  entered  into  disputation, 
and  he  sometimes  appeared  to  yield  to  others  at  the 
very  time  that  he  was  leading  them.  Grace  dwelt 
upon  his  lips.  He  discussed  the  greatest  subjects 
with  facility;  the  most  trifling  were  ennobled  by 
his  pen ;  and  upon  the  most  barren  he  scattered  the 
flowers  of  rhetoric.  The  peculiar  but  unaffected 
mode  of  expression  which  he  adopted  made  many 
persons  believe  that  he  possessed  universal  knowl- 
edge as  if  by  inspiration.  It  might  indeed  have  been 
almost  said  that  he  rather  invented  what  he  knew 
than  learned  it.  He  was  always  original  and  creat- 
ive, imitating  no  one,  and  himself  inimitable.  A 
noble  singularity  pervaded  his  whole  person,  and 
a  certain  undefinable  and  sublime  simplicity  gave  to 
his  appearance  the  air  of  a  prophet."  His  personal 
appearance  has  been  well  sketched  by  one  of  his  con- 
temporaries, the  Duke  de  St.  Simon,  a  satirical,  mis- 
anthropical, utterly  worldly  man.  "Fenelon,"  says 
St.  Simon,  "was  a  tall  man,  thin,  well-made,  and 
with  a  large  nose.  From  his  eyes  issued  the  fire 
and  animation  of  his  mind,  like  a  torrent ;  and  his 
countenance  was  such  that  I  never  yet  beheld  any 
one  similar  to  it,  nor  could  it  ever  be  forgotten  if 
once  seen.    It  combined  everything,  and  yet  with 


28  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

everything  in  harmony.  It  was  grave,  and  yet  allur- 
ing ;  it  was  solemn,  and  yet  gay ;  it  bespoke  equally 
the  theologian,  the  bishop,  and  the  nobleman. 
Everything  which  was  visible  in  it,  as  well  as  in 
his  whole  person,  was  delicate,  intellectual,  grace- 
ful, becoming,  and,  above  all,  noble.  It  required  an 
effort  to  cease  looking  at  him.  All  the  portraits  are 
strong  resemblances,  though  they  have  not  caught 
that  harmony  which  was  so  striking  in  the  original, 
and  that  individual  delicacy  which  characterized 
each  feature.  His  manners  were  answerable  to  his 
countenance.  They  had  that  air  of  ease  and  ur- 
banity which  can  be  derived  only  from  intercourse 
with  the  best  society,  and  which  diffused  itself  over 
all  his  discourse.  He  possessed  a  natural  eloquence, 
graceful  and  finished,  and  a  most  insinuating  yet 
noble  and  proper  courtesy ;  an  easy,  clear,  agreeable 
utterance;  a  wonderful  power  of  explaining  the 
hardest  matters  in  a  lucid,  distinct  manner.  Add 
to  all  this  that  he  was  a  man  who  never  sought  to 
seem  cleverer  than  those  with  whom  he  conversed, 
who  brought  himself  insensibly  to  their  level,  putting 
them  at  their  ease,  and  enthralling  them  so  that  one 
could  neither  leave  him  nor  distrust  him,  nor  help 
seeking  him  again.  It  was  this  rare  g^ft  which  he 
possessed  to  the  utmost  degree  which  bound  all 
his  friends  so  closely  to  him  all  his  life  in  spite  of 
his  disgrace  at  court,  and  which  led  them,  when 
scattered,  to  gather  together  to  talk  of  him,  regret 
him,  long  after  him,  and  cling  more  and  more  to 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  29 

him,  like  the  Jews  to  Jerusalem,  and  sigh  and  hope 
for  his  return,  even  as  that  unhappy  race  waits  and 
sighs  for  their  Messiah." 

The  community  of  the  New  Catholics  had  been 
founded  in  1634  by  Archbishop  Gondi,  as  a  protec- 
tion for  women  converted  from  Protestantism,  and 
as  a  means  of  propagating  Church  teachings  among 
those  yet  unconverted.  It  was  conducted  by  a  com- 
munity of  women  who  did  the  work  of  Sisters  of 
Charity  outside  its  walls,  and  was  presided  over 
by  a  priest  selected  by  the  Archbishop  of  Paris. 
Marshal  Turenne,  himself  a  recent  convert,  gave 
largely  to  it,  and  the  king,  who  was  willing  to  com- 
bine gentle  means  with  harsh  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  purposes  in  bringing  all  his  subjects  into 
one  faith,  took  great  interest  in  it.  Hitherto  the 
post  of  superior  had  been  filled  by  much  older  men, 
but,  though  only  twenty-seven,  Fenelon  was  found 
to  combine  all  those  qualities  which  fitted  him  for 
the  employment — distinguished  talents,  education, 
amiable  manners,  unusual  prudence  and  discretion, 
much  love  to  God,  and  great  benevolence  to  man. 
The  archbishop  who  selected  him,  M.  de  Harlai, 
was,  as  we  have  already  noted,  by  no  means  of 
Fenelon's  stemip.  He  was  a  courtier,  a  man  of  the 
world,  regardless  of  morality,  and  ever  scheming 
for  his  own  advancement.  Having  noted  the  capa- 
bility of  Fenelon,  perhaps  he  thought,  by  making 
him  a  sort  of  protege,  he  could  attach  him  to  his 
interests,  obtain  credit  by  his  successes,  and  use  him 


30  Fen^lon:  Th^  Mystic 

for  his  purposes.  But  if  he  thought  this  he  did  not 
show  his  usual  discernment;  for  Fenelon,  though 
willing  to  accept  the  office  assigned,  which  gave 
promise  of  large  usefulness,  was  in  no  way  attracted 
by  the  character  of  his  patron,  and  no  considera- 
tions of  expediency  could  induce  him  to  pay  court 
in  that  direction.  Consequently,  De  Harlai's  early 
liking  changed  erelong  to  pronounced  enmity.  He 
noticed  the  absence  of  Fenelon  from  his  levees,  and 
when  he  did  present  himself  at  a  certain  reception, 
rebuked  him  with  the  words,  "It  seems  that  you  de- 
sire to  be  forgotten,  M.  I'Abbe,  and  you  will  be." 
Fenelon's  friendship  also  with  Bossuet  became  es- 
tablished about  this  time,  and  this  doubtless  in- 
creased the  animosity  of  the  archbishop,  as  the  two 
were  rivals  for  the  favor  of  the  king,  on  which  the 
coveted  promotion  to  the  cardinalate,  which  each 
desired,  so  largely  depended. 

It  was  probably  owing,  somewhat  at  least,  to 
this  unfriendly  influence  on  the  part  of  De  Harlai 
that  Fenelon  received  no  appointment  which  could 
supply  him  with  funds ;  for  the  post  of  Superior  car- 
ried no  salary,  and  until  1681  he  continued  to  be 
entirely  dependent  for  everything  upon  his  uncle, 
the  marquis.  In  that  year  his  uncle,  the  Bishop  of 
Sarlat,  resigned  to  him  the  deanery  of  Carenac,  at 
Quercy,  on  the  Dordogne,  and  this  small  benefice, 
producing  between  3,CXX)  and  4,000  livres  annually 
— about  $2,cxx)  a  year  of  modern  money — was  the 
only  revenue  Fenelon  possessed  for  a  long  time, 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  31 

until,  indeed,  his  forty-third  year.  On  leaving  the 
Sulpician  seminary,  he  took  up  his  abode  with  his 
uncle,  the  Marquis  de  Fenelon,  in  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Germain,  and  gave  himself  up  as  entirely  to  his 
work  as  if  he  had  not  been  brought  into  so  much 
closer  proximity  to  the  court  and  the  world  of  Paris. 
He  avoided  general  society,  only  living  intimately 
with  some  few  chosen  friends.  His  uncle  was  able 
to  introduce  him  into  a  rare  circle,  prominent  iu 
which  were  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Beauvilliers, 
and  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Chevreuse  (the  two 
ladies  were  sisters,  daughters  of  the  great  finance 
minister,  Colbert),  Bossuet,  Bishop  of  Meaux,  and 
Madame  de  Maintenon.  We  must  say  a  few  words 
about  these  people,  for  they  had  much  to  do  with 
Fenelon  through  all  his  subsequent  life. 

"The  Duke  de  Beauvilliers,"  says  St.  Simon, 
"was  early  touched  by  God,  and  never  lost  His 
presence,  but  lived  entirely  in  the  future  world,  in- 
different to  place  and  cabal  and  worldly  advantage, 
content,  when  called  to  the  council-board,  simply 
to  state  his  true  opinion,  without  much  caring 
whether  it  was  followed  or  not."  Punctual  and  or- 
derly almost  to  excess,  he  controlled  his  household 
with  vigilant  kindness,  and  took  on  his  shoulders,  as 
the  king  himself  bore  witness,  a  load  of  adminis- 
trative details  that  would  have  killed  four  other 
men.  In  society  he  was  rather  shy  and  stiff  by 
nature,  as  well  as  on  principle  exceedingly  careful 
to  set  a  close  guard  on  eyes  and  ears  and  lips,  so 


32  Fen^lon:  The  Mystic 

that  even  when,  as  a  principal  minister,  he  was  the 
observed  of  all  observers,  surrounded  by  princes  and 
nobles,  he  repelled  by  his  reserve.  He  had  been  at 
court  nearly  all  his  life,  having  early  succeeded 
Marshal  Villeroy  as  head  of  the  Council  of  Finance, 
and  being  also  first  gentleman  of  the  chamber.  He 
had  also  been  governor  of  Havre.  He  was  called 
to  the  treasury  in  1685,  ^^^  to  the  council-board  in 
1691.  He  was  acknowledged  on  all  sides  to  be  a 
man  of  remarkable  piety  and  purity  of  life,  and,  as 
a  courtier,  without  reproach — a  very  rare  thing  in 
those  days.  His  chief  fault  was  his  timidity,  and 
his  excessive  subserviency  to  the  king.  But  when 
his  conscience  was  aroused  he  could  show  a  bold- 
ness that  was  most  admirable,  and  all  the  more  to 
be  commended  because  somewhat  foreign  to  his 
nature.  He  remained  true  as  steel  to  Fenelon  to 
his  dying  day,  his  friendship  never  wavering  or 
showing  diminution,  even  when  the  latter  was  ban- 
ished from  court,  and  all  his  friends  were  in  a  meas- 
ure under  the  ban  because  of  the  king's  fierce  anger. 
In  later  years  the  king  did  his  best  to  separate  the 
two,  even  sending  for  the  duke  and  explicitly  threat- 
ening him  with  a  like  fate  to  that  of  his  friend  if 
he  did  not  give  him  up.  But  the  duke  replied,  with 
dignity  and  feeling:  "Sire,  you  have  placed  me 
where  I  am,  and  you  can  displace  me.  I  shall  ac- 
cept the  will  of  my  sovereign  as  the  voice  of  God, 
and  I  should  retire  from  court  at  your  bidding  re- 
gretting your  displeasure,  but  hoping  to  lead  a  more 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  33 

peaceful  life  in  retirement."  .This  manly,  uncom- 
promising stand  made  a  deep  impression  on  the 
king,  who,  in  spite  of  his  liking  for  his  own  way, 
knew  that  he  could  hardly  afford  to  spare  so  faith- 
ful and  conscientious  a  servant;  nothing  more  was 
said  about  the  matter. 

His  brother-in-law,  the  Duke  de  Chevreuse,  was 
different  in  disposition,  though  equally  devoted  to 
religion.  He  was  abler,  broader-minded,  better  in- 
formed, more  genial  and  witty,  but  less  systematic, 
and  a  very  poor  business  man.  He  had  no  fixed 
hours  for  anything,  and  was  always  behindhand. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  king  he  must  have  died  a 
beggar ;  for  he  had  little  of  his  own,  and  his  wife's 
large  fortune  was  wasted  on  costly  but  futile  ex- 
periments, such  as  canals  made  at  enormous  ex- 
pense to  float  down  the  timber  from  woods  which 
he  sold  before  even  a  tree  was  felled.  He  was 
charming  in  his  manners,  and  was  not  simply  loved, 
but  adored  by  his  family,  and  friends,  and  servants. 
Throughout  his  troubles,  which  were  many,  he  was 
never  for  a  moment  cast  down,  but  offered  up  his 
all  to  God  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  Him.  "Never  man 
possessed  his  soul  in  peace  as  he  did,"  wrote  St. 
Simon,  "as  the  Scripture  says,  'He  carried  it  in  his 
hands.'  "  He  was  even  nearer  to  Fenelon  in  some 
ways  than  the  other  duke,  and  equally  stanch  in  his 
attachment.  He  had  no  special  portfolio  in  the 
ministry,  but  was  consulted  by  the  king  about  most 
departments,  and  was  very  highly  esteemed  by  him. 

3 


34-  Feneudn:  Th^  Mystic. 

The  two  sisters,  wives  of  these  dukes — there 
were  indeed  three,  the  third  having  married  the 
Duke  de  Mortemart,  but  of  this  family  we  hear 
almost  nothing — were  linked  by  the  strongest  bonds 
of  sympathy  and  affection,  and  the  three  families 
lived  in  the  closest  union  of  principle  and  action, 
which  gave  them  great  strength  amid  the  profligate, 
time-serving  court.  Twice  a  week  there  were  din- 
ners at  the  Hotel  de  Beauvilliers,  where  the  society 
was  at  once  select,  intellectual,  and  devout.  A  bell 
was  on  the  table,  and  no  servant  was  present,  that 
they  might  converse  without  restraint.  It  was  in 
this  society  that  Fenelon,  being  introduced,  became 
speedily  the  leader.  He  was  accepted  by  the  two 
dukes,  not  as  director  simply  but  as  spiritual  mas- 
ter, as  the  mind  of  their  mind,  says  St.  Simon,  the 
soul  of  their  soul,  the  sovereign  ruler  of  their  heart 
and  conscience.  Such  he  remained  all  his  days. 
Fenelon  and  the  Beauvilliers  had  not  been  long  ac- 
quainted before  the  duchess,  mother  of  eight  daugh- 
ters, begged  him  to  set  down  some  rules  for  the 
guidance  of  their  education.  This  request  is  a 
proof  not  only  of  the  versatility  of  his  powers,  but 
of  the  strength  of  his  faculty  of  intuition,  that  a 
court  lady  should  have  turned  to  him  for  help  in 
such  matters.  He  had  been  educated  from  child- 
hood to  his  sacred  calling,  shut  off  from  any  expe- 
rience of  some  of  the  strongest  of  life's  influences, 
and  therefore  on  some  accounts  might  seem  poorly 
fitted  to  prove  an  apt  adviser;  but  it  was  strongly 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  35 

felt  that  he  possessed  the  secret  of  truest  wisdom, 
that  what  he  taught  was  drawn  from  too  high  a 
source  to  be  greatly  affected  by  the  limits  of  per- 
sonal experience.  Throughout  his  life,  indeed,  it 
was  his  power  of  sympathy,  of  entering  into  the 
difficulties  of  others,  of  realizing  temptations  that 
can  never  have  been  present  with  him,  that  made 
his  influence  so  comprehensive — a  power  rarer  and 
more  marvelous  than  the  greatest  of  intellectual 
gifts. 

The  work  on  the  education  of  girls,  which  grew 
out  of  the  duchess's  request,  swelled  into  a  consid- 
erable compass,  and  was  first  published  in  1687.  It 
greatly  increased  his  reputation,  revealing  a  knowl- 
edge of  child-nature  which  was  most  remarkable, 
and  taking  advanced  ground  in  many  particulars. 
He  showed  himself  a  thoroughgoing  reformer, 
breaking  away  from  the  trammels  of  mediaeval  edu- 
cation that  so  long  and  so  disastrously  had  ruled. 
There  is  hardly  a  page  of  it  which  might  not  afford 
profitable  study  for  parents  at  the  present  day.  It 
still  holds  a  high  position  among  works  on  this  sub- 
ject. His  deep  love  for  children  sharpened  his  keen 
observation  of  all  that  concerned  them.  He  se- 
verely reprobated  the  fashion  of  leaving  them  witli 
uneducated  persons;  for  he  regarded  the  earliest 
years  as  of  unspeakable  importance  in  the  forma- 
tion of  character. 

"Never  let  them  show  themselves  off,"  he  says, 
"but  do  noi  be  worried  by  their  questions ;  rather 


36  Fenelon:  Ths  Mystic 

encourage  them;  they  are  the  most  natural  oppor- 
tunities of  teaching."  He  discovered  that  children 
are  always  watching  others,  endowed  with  a  great 
faculty  of  imitation,  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  over- 
estimate the  responsibility  of  their  first  guardians. 
He  recognized  the  necessity  of  discipline ;  but  if  the 
child  has  merited  disgrace,  he  pleads  that  there 
should  be  some  one  to  whom  she  can  turn  for  sym- 
pathy, thus  showing  that  he  had  fathomed  that  over- 
whelming sense  of  loneliness  which  is  one  of  child- 
hood's chief  terrors.  He  says :  "Make  study  pleas- 
ant, hide  it  under  a  show  of  liberty  and  amuse- 
ment. Let  the  children  interrupt  their  lessons 
sometimes  with  little  jokes;  they  need  such  distrac- 
tion to  rest  their  brain.  Never  fear  to  give  them 
reasons  for  everything.  Never  give  extra  lessons 
as  a  punishment."  His  method  was  to  treat  children 
as  reasonable  beings  instead  of  unruly  animals 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  coerce  against  their  will ; 
and  his  object  was  to  make  them  regard  learning 
as  a  privilege  and  delight,  not  as  a  penance  forced 
upon  them  by  the  tyranny  of  their  elders.  He  made 
religion  the  groundwork  of  all  education,  but  he 
would  have  it  guarded  against  superstition.  He 
stood  strongly  for  the  true,  best  rights  of  women, 
counting  their  occupations  no  less  important  to  the 
public  than  those  of  men.  He  would  give  the  young 
girl  useful  solid  tastes  that  would  fill  her  mind  with 
real  interests  and  prevent  idle  curiosity  and  the 
dissipations  of  romance-reading.    "Give  them  some- 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  37 

thing  to  manage,  on  condition  that  they  give  you  an 
account  of  it,"  he  pleads;  "they  will  be  delighted 
with  the  confidence,  for  it  gives  an  incredible  pleas- 
ure to  the  young  when  one  begins  to  rely  upon  them 
and  admit  them  to  serious  concerns." 

This  will  suffice  to  show  something  of  the  trend 
of  his  work.  Much  that  he  urged  is,  of  course,  com- 
monplace now,  but  it  was  not  so  in  his  day.  He 
shows  in  his  book  so  much  knowledge  of  the  needs 
and  characteristics  of  little  children  not  only,  but  of 
the  special  difficulties  and  infirmities  of  women, 
that  it  remains  a  marvel  where,  at  this  period  of 
his  life,  he  could  have  gained  such  insight  into  both. 
And  all  is  illumined  with  his  beautiful  style  and 
gentle  spirit.  Mr.  John  Morley  remarks,  "When 
we  turn  to  modern  literature  from  Fenelon's  pages, 
who  does  not  feel  that  the  world  has  lost  a  sacred 
accent,  as  if  some  ineffable  essence  had  passed  out 
from  our  hearts?" 

Madame  de  Maintenon  has  been  mentioned  as 
one  of  the  little  circle  to  whose  intimacy  Fenelon 
was  introduced  when  beginning  his  Parisian  career. 
The  full  particulars  of  her  remarkable  history  must 
be  sought  in  larger  works.  Yet  it  is  essential  that 
we  know  something  concerning  her,  since  for  a 
while  she  was  one  of  Fenelon's  best  supporters,  and 
then  became  one  of  his  most  persistent  foes.  She 
was  the  grandchild  of  Theodore  Agrippa  d'Aubigne, 
a  noted  Protestant  warrior  and  a  noble  friend  of 


38  Fenewjn:  The  Mystic 

Henry  o£  Navarre,  who  died  at  Geneva  in  1630.* 
Her  father  was  a  scamp,  her  mother  a  jailer's 
daughter.  She  was  a  stout  Protestant  in  her 
younger  days,  but  being  left  penniless  at  an  early 
age,  and  wholly  dependent  upon  charitable  rela- 
tives, she  was  placed  in  a  Parisian  convent,  and 
there  converted  to  Catholicism.  She  was  still  only 
seventeen  and  uncommonly  good-looking  when,  to 
escape  the  pressure  of  dependence,  she  consented 
to  become  the  wife  of  Scarron,  a  writer  of  comic 
poetry  and  a  cripple.  So  Frances  d'Aubigne  be- 
came Madame  Scarron,  and  somewhat  improved  her 
position.  Her  husband  died  in  five  years,  leaving 
her  a  pension.  Falling  in  with  Madame  de  Monte - 
span,  the  king's  mistress,  that  lady  took  a  liking  to 
her,  and  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  established 
at  a  fine  house  in  one  of  the  suburbs,  with  a  large 
income  and  a  numerous  staff  of  servants,  as  gov- 
erness of  the  king's  illegitimate  children  by  this  mis- 
tress. At  the  end  of  four  years  the  children,  with 
their  governess,  were  housed  in  the  palace,  and  the 
influence  of  the  said  governess  over  the  king,  who 
was  naturally  thrown  much  in  contact  with  her, 
steadily  increased.  By  the  savings  from  her  salary 
and  the  presents  of  the  king  she  was  able  to  pur- 
chase the  estate  of  Maintenon,  not  far  from  Paris, 
and  the  king,  who  never  had  liked  the  harsh  name 
of  Scarron,  soon  began  to  call  her  Madame  de  Main- 

STbe  celebrated  historian  of  the  Reionnation,  J.  H.  Merle 
d'Aubigne,  who  died  at  Geneva  In  1873,  was  descended  from  the  same 
&mily. 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  39 

tenon,  which  henceforth  became  her  title.  In  the 
midst  of  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  life  she  had 
maintained  a  good  character,  inheriting  much  from 
her  grandfather,  and  now  she  became  yet  more  aus- 
tere in  her  piety.  The  Abbe  Gobelin,  a  severe 
Jesuit  confessor,  directed  her  conscience,  and  Bos- 
suet  impressed  his  strong  personality  upon  her. 
They  persuaded  her  that  she  was  the  chosen  instru- 
ment for  the  conversion  of  the  king.  So  she  set 
herself  to  the  task,  finding  it  on  many  accounts  con- 
genial, and  achieving  a  remarkable  degree  of  suc- 
cess. There  seems  to  have  been  in  the  complex 
character  of  the  king,  iri  spite  of  his  many  sins,  no 
little  regard  for  religion — it  is  said  that  he  never 
missed  going  to  mass  but  once  in  his  life— ^and  he 
was  already  weary  of  Montespan,  whose  influence 
on  him  was  unquestionably  evil.  So  the  new  in- 
fluence more  and  more  prevailed ;  the  mistress  was 
dismissed  to  a  convent,  and  the  wise,  devout,  gooH- 
looking  governess  became  a  power  at  court,  first 
lady  in  waiting  to  the  crown  princess,  and  female 
friend  to  the  monarch.  The  king  spent  hours  daily 
in  her  company,  and  was  the  better  for  it.  She 
was  a  strict  moralist,  and  none  of  the  slanders  rife 
about  her  seem  to  have  any  good  foundation.  She 
enjoyed  the  respect  of  the  best  people  about  the 
court,  and  was  a  friend  of  the  neglected  queen,  who 
cried,  "Providence  has  raised  up  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  to  bring  my  husband  back  to  me."  And  this 
new  favorite,    who  was  not  a  mistress,    believed 


40  Fen^lon:  Th]^  Mystic 

abundantly  in  the  divine  nature  of  her  mission.  She 
accepted  the  king's  friendship  to  give  him  good 
counsels  and  end  his  slavery  to  vice.  The  care  of 
his  salvation  became  the  first  and  most  absorbing 
of  her  duties.  She  held  herself  a  monitress,  charged 
to  encourage  and  console  him,  or  to  check  him  with 
leproaches  that  none  but  she  dared  utter.  He 
called  her  "Your  Seriousness."  She  never  annoyed 
him  with  opposition,  never  encroached,  had  no  will 
of  her  own,  but  became,  as  it  were,  the  king's  con- 
ception of  his  better  self,  his  second  conscience,  a 
magnet  quick  to  draw  him,  sometimes  into  the 
really  worthier  of  two  opposing  courses,  always 
into  the  more  ecclesiastically  virtuous.  The  queen 
died  in  her  arms  in  1683.  Two  years  after,  she 
was  privately  married  to  the  king  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris  in  the  presence  of  Pere  Lachaise,  the  king's 
confessor,  after  whom  the  famous  cemetery  in 
Paris  is  named.  Such  was  the  woman  who  ruled 
at  Versailles  when  Fenelon  came  into  office.  He 
excited  her  interest  on  their  first  meeting,  at  or  be- 
fore 1683;  for  she  wrote,  under  that  date,  to 
Madame  de  St.  Geran :  "Your  Abbe  de  Fenelon  is 
very  well  received ;  but  the  world  does  not  do  him 
justice.  He  is  feared;  he  wishes  to  be  loved;  and 
is  lovable." 

We  must  briefly  introduce  one  more  personage  to 
our  readers  before  we  can  safely  resume  the  cur- 
rent of  the  narrative.  Jacques  Benigne  Bossuet, 
who  was  for  a  while  Fenelon's  friend  and  then  be- 


From  Youth  to  Manhood.  41 

came  the  bitterest  of  his  foes,  was  born  at  Dijon, 
1627.  In  his  boyhood  he  was  a  brilliant  scholar. 
At  Paris  he  soon  surpassed  his  teachers  in  acquire- 
ments. He  took  the  Doctor's  bonnet  in  1652,  and 
in  the  same  year  was  received  into  priest's  orders. 
He  was  first  canon  to  the  cathedral  of  Metz;  hi 
1669,  Bishop  of  Condom ;  in  1681,  bishop  of  Meaux. 
In  1670  he  was  appointed  preceptor  to  the  dauphin, 
and  gave  most  of  his  time  for  ten  years  to  this  of- 
fice, resigning  his  bishopric  for  the  purpose.  In 
the  pulpit  his  oratorical  powers  elicited  universal 
applause.  His  celebrated  Funeral  Discourses,  six 
in  number,  were,  and  still  are,  accounted  master- 
pieces of  rhetorical  skill.  Two  words,  strength  and 
majesty,  describe  the  dominant  characteristics  of 
his  oratory.  He  had  a  mind  well  stored  with  noble 
sentiments.  His  sermons  were  almost  entirely  ex- 
tempore, springing  from  a  mind  filled  with  his  sub- 
ject, guided  by  a  few  notes  on  paper.  Attracted  by 
the  strength  and  sublimity  of  the  Bible  he  moved 
largely  within  its  circle  of  thought,  rather  than  with 
saints,  relics,  and  images,  which  were  for  the  most 
part  below  the  plane  of  his  vision.  Besides  being 
one  of  the  first  preachers  of  the  age,  he  was  a  cele- 
brated polemic  and  a  powerful  writer,  having  also 
a  Roman  aptitude  to  rule.  One  of  the  strongest 
personalities  which  the  French  Church  has  produced, 
he  exercised  a  commanding  influence  in  various 
directions.  The  principles  of  Gallicanism  as  op- 
posed to  Ultramontanism  found  in  him  their  stal- 


42  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

wart  champion.  He  was  a  famous  apologist.  His 
knowledge  was  completely  at  command,  so  that  he 
did  not  shrink  from  oral  disputation  with  the  most 
learned  adversaries.  And  he  wielded  a  very  strong 
pen.  His  "Exposition  of  the  Catholic  Faith"  pre- 
sents the  doctrines  of  Rome  in  a  liberal  and  plausi- 
ble form.  In  his  "History  of  the  Variations  of  the 
Protestant  Churches,"  and  also  in  other  treatises, 
he  made  out  what  was  considered  at  the  time  a  ver>' 
strong  defense  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith,  but  he 
has  since  been  convicted,  not  merely  of  inaccuracy, 
but  of  false  and  garbled  quotations.  He  died  in 
1704. 

Bossuet,  it  will  be  seen,  was  twenty-four  years 
older  than  Fenelon,  and  for  a  time  was  almost  a 
father  to  him.  At  the  zenith  of  his  great  reputa- 
tion he  was  much  attracted  by  the  younger  man  and 
took  great  pains  to  attach  him  to  himself.  He  in- 
vited him  often,  with  one  or  two  others,  to  his 
country  residence  at  Germigny.  They  had  stated 
hours  of  prayer  and  private  study  and  relaxation, 
and  in  these  last  periods  the  bishop  took  pleasure  in 
unfolding  to  his  humbler  companions  all  his  sacred 
and  literary  stores  of  knowledge.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  bishop's  regard  for  Fenelon,  or  Fene- 
lon's  fondness  for  the  bishop.  The  intercourse  with 
a  masculine  intellect  so  much  more  developed  than 
his  own  was,  no  doubt,  a  benefit  to  Fenelon,  as 
well  as  a  high  compliment  to  him,  for  it  compelled 
him  to  think  for  himself  and  brace  himself  some- 


From  Youth  to  Manhood  43 

what  in  order  to  take  a  worthy  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion. One  can  but  regret  that  the  friendship  which 
seemed  so  suitable,  and  was  proHfic  of  such  advan- 
tage to  the  Church,  as  well  as  mutual  pleasure  be- 
tween these  two  great  and  good  men,  should  in  a 
few  years,  largely  through  misapprehensions  and 
verbal  disagreements,  have  been  turned  to  bitter- 
ness and  scandal. 

It  is  probable  that  the  ten  years  during  which 
Fenelon  held  the  post  of  superior  at  the  New  Cath- 
olics was  the  sunniest  of  his  life.  It  was  at  least 
the  freest  from  difficulties  and  complications.  He 
was  discovering  the  large  possibilities  of  his  own 
powers,  developing  healthfully  in  all  directions,  with 
a  pleasant  occupation,  bright  prospects,  and  an  ever- 
widening  circle  of  friends,  who  looked  to  him  as  an 
influence  for  good,  and  increasingly  hung  upon  his 
words.  He  was  called  in  this  period  to  mourn  the 
loss  of  his  dear  uncle,  the  marquis,  who  had  been  in 
many  ways,  both  spiritually  and  temporally,  such 
a  help  to  him,  and  who  passed  away  October  8, 
1683.  Just  how  much  he  had  to  do  in  these  years 
at  the  convent  is  not  clear.  It  seems  likely  that  he 
was  little  more  than  warden  or  visitor,  in  general 
charge  of  the  instruction,  the  other  matters  being 
m.anaged  by  the  mother  superior  acting  under  the 
minute  directions  of  the  government.  For  con- 
verting to  the  old  faith  those  who  had  been  born  and 
trained  in  heresy — many  of  them,  it  would  appear, 
brought  there  early,  against  their  will,  or  in  viola- 


44  FeneivOn:  The  Mystic. 

tion  of  the  proper  rights  of  their  parents — Fene- 
lon  was  marvelously  equipped,  knowing  the  con- 
troversy perfectly,  and  knowing  also  what  points 
to  touch  upon  with  infinite  tact,  what  appeals  would 
be  most  effective  in  individual  cases,  what  argu- 
ments to  use,  what  influences  to  exert,  what  spirit  to 
exhibit.  He  undoubtedly  proved  himself  the  ten- 
derest  and  most  persuasive  of  advocates  and  min- 
isters, modifying,  so  far  as  possible,  the  harshness 
of  the  State  which  he  was  powerless  to  prevent. 

It  was  his  success  at  the  head  of  this  institution 
which  called  forth  the  next  commission  with  which 
the  king  honored  him,  and  which  brought  him  into 
yet  closer  connection  with  the  troubled  current  of 
affairs.  In  order  the  better  to  understand  it  we 
shall  do  well  to  pause  at  this  point  and  consider  for 
a  little  the  ecclesiastical  and  political  condition  of 
France,  and  to  some  degree  of  the  world  at  large. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SETTING  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

It  is  absolutely  essential,  in  studying  any  char- 
acter, that  we  take  into  careful  account  the  age  and 
land  in  which  he  lived.  We  can  not  rightly  estimate 
his  merits  or  demerits  unless  we  know  the  circum- 
stances under  which  he  was  brought  up,  and  the  in- 
fluences to  which  he  was  subjected.  The  back- 
ground of  the  picture  has  large  importance  for 
showing  off  in  proper  light  the  principal  figure. 
The  setting  of  the  gem  has  something  to»do  with 
our  appreciation  of  its  value.  Deeds  which  in  one 
century  would  cover  their  perpetrator  with  infamy, 
in  another  would  be  regarded  as  wholly  excusable. 
The  amount  of  light  afforded  strictly  measures  the 
amount  of  guilt  involved.  Unavoidable  ignorance 
exculpates.  Fullness  of  knowledge  imposes  re- 
sponsibility. No  greater  mistake  could  be  made 
than  to  judge  people  irrespective  of  their  surround- 
ings. Moreover,  it  adds  immensely  to  our  interest 
in  any  person  if  we  can,  to  some  degree  at  least, 
look  out  upon  the  world  with  his  eyes,  see  what  he 
saw,  and  so  be  helped  to  feel  as  he  felt.  We  be- 
come the  better  acquainted  with  him  in  proportion 
as  we  are  able  to  put  ourselves  in  his  place.  We 
45 


46  Fen^i^on:  Th^  Mystic 

can  certainly  estimate  him  more  equitably  According 
as  we  reproduce  to  our  mind  the  scenes  of  his  day. 

This  being  so,  before  we  go  further  with  the 
personal  history  of  Fenelon  the  Saint  we  shall  do 
well  to  spend  a  little  while  familiarizing  ourselves 
with  the  world  of  his  day  both  civil  and  ecclesias- 
tical. How  were  matters  in  Church  and  State  during 
the  period  in  which  this  great  man  flourished? 
What  was  going  on  among  the  nations  in  general, 
and  in  France  particularly?  A  brief  survey  seems 
necessary  to  give  us  the  right  point  of  view.  Since 
Fenelon  was  bom  in  1651,  the  second  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century  would  appear  to  be  in  the  main 
his  epoch.  What  was  the  condition  of  things 
throughout  Christendom  then? 

In  America  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury saw  the  English  making  good  their  foothold 
on  the  rude  Atlantic  shore,  in  Virginia,  Massa- 
chusetts, New  York,  and  a  few  other  points,  con- 
tending with  the  Indians,  the  Dutch,  and  the  home 
government,  jealous  of  their  liberties,  extending 
their  trade,  and  inaugurating  great  enterprises.  It 
was  in  1656  that  the  Quakers  arrived  in  Boston.  A 
bloody  persecution  sprung  up  against  them  in  the 
few  years  following,  and  four  were  put  to  death. 
It  was  still  later  in  the  century,  1692,  that  the  hor- 
rible proceedings  against  witchcraft  took  place  in 
Salem,  where  many  were,  most  unjustly  hanged, 
and  many  more  tortured  into  confession  of  abom- 
inable falsehoods.    It  is  well  to  remember  this  when 


The;  Setting  of  the  Picture  47 

we  grow  indignant  over  the  persecution  of  the 
Huguenots  in  France.  Further  north,  in  Acadie, 
or  Nova  Scotia,  and  Canada,  the  French  had  al- 
ready explored  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  great  lakes, 
made  some  feeble  settlements,  and  converted  some 
of  the  Indians.  Their  missionaries  and  adventurers 
were  full  of  heroism  and  zeal.  Later  in  the  cen- 
tury they  discovered  the  Mississippi,  and  claimed 
all  the  territory  in  that  Western  region  from  its 
source  to  its  mouth,  calling  it,  after  the  great  king, 
Louisiana. 

In  England,  1650  saw  Oliver  Cromwell  in  pretty 
complete  possession  of  power,  Charles  I  having 
been  beheaded  the  year  before.  In  165 1  the  royal 
army  was  totally  defeated  at  Worcester,  and  Charles 
II  soon  after  escaped  in  disguise  to  France  to  come 
back  triumphantly  in  1660,  when  the  Lord  Pro- 
tector had  passed  away.  During  the  Common- 
wealth Roman  Catholics  were  deprived  of  the  privi- 
lege of  voting  or  holding  office,  and  the  use  of  the 
Prayer-book  was  forbidden  to  Episcopalians.  It 
was  in  the  short  reign  of  James  II  (1685-88)  that 
Judge  Jeffreys  wrote  his  name  with  letters  of  blood 
in  the  annals  of  English  history.  When  the  people 
turned  to  William  of  Orange,  the  perfidious  and 
tyrannical  James  was  forced  to  flee  with  his  family 
to  France,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days  at 
St.  Germain,  a  pensioner  on  the  bounty  of  Louis 
XIV.  Anne,  the  younger  daughter  of  James  11, 
reigned  over  England  from  1701  to  1714. 


48  Fenelon:  Ths  Mystic. 

On  the  continent  of  Europe  the  terrible  Thirty 
Years'  War  (1618-1648)  between  Protestants  and 
Catholics,  memorable  for  the  brave  deeds  of  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus,  had  just  closed  in  the  Peace  of 
Westphalia,  by  which  Brandenburg — the  forerunner 
of  Prussia — was  enlarged,  and  Saxony  strength- 
ened, while  Switzerland  and  the  low  countries,  or 
Netherlands,  were  acknowledged  as  independent 
States.  The  Belgic  Provinces,  between  the  Neth- 
erlands and  France,  divided  among  themselves,  re- 
mained submissive  to  Spain  and  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church.  They  became  involved  in  the  wars  at- 
tending the  decline  of  the  Spanish  monarchy,  and 
during  the  remainder  of  the  century  were  the  theater 
of  fierce  struggles  between  contending  armies,  and 
were  subjected  to  many  changes  of  boundaries. 

Central  Europe,  where  were  the  States  of  Bo- 
hemia, Bavaria,  Moravia,  Austria,  and  smaller  prin- 
cipalities, was  loosely  confederated  into  the  Ger- 
man Empire  under  the  Imperial  Diet  at  Frankfort. 
Ferdinand  III  at  this  time  held  the  imperial  dig- 
nity. His  death  was  followed  by  the  long  reign  of 
Leopold  I  (1657-1705).  He  attacked  the  Turks 
on  the  East  and  the  French  monarch  on  the  West. 
From  the  former  he  obtained  a  great  stretch  of 
territory,  and  in  the  combination  which  kept  down 
the  towering  ambition  of  the  latter  he  was  one  of 
the  chief  factors.  In  the  North  was  the  strong 
kingdom  of  Sweden — soon  to  be  made  still  stronger 
by  the  victories  of  Charles  X — and  the  weak  king- 


Th^  S:e'mNG  o^  th^  Picture;.  49 

dom  of  Denmark.  On  the  East  were  Poland  and 
Russia  and  the  Turk.  On  the  South  were  Spain, 
Portugal,  and  Italy.  Portugal,  after  a  most  hon- 
orable history  had  been  annexed  by  Philip  II  to 
the  Spanish  realm ;  but  in  1640,  after  a  forced  union 
of  one  hundred  and  sixty  years,  it  was  freed  by  a 
bold  and  successful  conspiracy  of  the  nobles,  from 
all  connection  with  Spain,  although  its  independence 
was  not  formally  recognized  till  1668.  Spain  had 
wholly  lost  her  former  headship  in  European  poli- 
tics and  was  in  a  bad  way  under  the  last  rulers  of 
the  Hapsburg  dynasty,  bigoted,  intolerant,  incom- 
petent; disordered  finances,  impaired  industries — 
due  largely  to  the  barbarous  expulsion  of  the  Moors 
— and  inferior  military  forces  left  her  in  the  second 
rank  of  powers. 

Italy  was  a  mere  geographical  expression,  the 
territory  being  split  up  under  the  rule  of  petty 
princes  largely  swayed  by  foreign  influence;  much 
of  the  country  indeed  was  under  direct  foreign  do- 
minion. Among  the  native  rulers  the  Dukes  of 
Savoy  were  perhaps  the  most  enterprising  and  suc- 
cessful. Venice  maintained  a  fair  degree  of  pros- 
perity. Naples  was  an  appanage  of  the  Spanish 
crown.  The  popes  had  larger  territorial  posses- 
sions, in  the  center  of  the  country,  than  at  any  pre- 
vious or  subsequent  time.  But  this  local  impor- 
tance was  more  than  offset  by  loss  in  the  larger 
sphere  of  influence  and  prerogative.  Convenience, 
indeed,  occasionally  led  a  prominent  sovereign  to 
4 


50  Feneu)n:  The  Mystic 

submit  some  question  to  the  papal  judgment;  but 
in  many  instances  his  wishes  were  openly  disre- 
garded, and  in  the  leading  questions  of  European 
politics  no  deference  was  paid  him. 

An  interesting  episode  occurring  just  at  this 
time  perhaps  deserves  mention.  Queen  Christina 
of  Sweden,  the  talented  but  eccentric  daughter  of 
the  great  Gustavus  Adolphus,  in  1654  abdicated  her 
throne  in  favor  of  her  cousin,  quitted  the  land  of 
her  fathers,  was  solemnly  admitted  into  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  at  Innspruck,  and  established  her 
permanent  residence  in  Rome  till  her  death  in  1689. 
The  pope,  Alexander  VII,  considered  it  the  special 
distinction  of  his  pontificate  that  he  was  permitted 
to  welcome  so  distinguished  a  convert;  but  she  did 
not  prove  in  all  things  wholly  satisfactory,  not  find- 
ing matters  quite  as  she  expected — a  frequent  ex- 
perience in  such  cases.  To  Gilbert  Burnet,  the  Eng- 
lish Bishop  of  Salisbury,  who  paid  her  a  visit,  she 
said,  "It  was  certain  that  the  Church  was  governed 
by  the  immediate  care  of  God,  for  none  of  the  four 
popes  that  she  had  known  since  she  came  to  Rome 
had  common  sense."  She  called  them  "the  first  and 
the  last  of  men." 

The  history  of  France  during  the  period  in 
which  Fenelon  flourished  must  be  given  at  some- 
what greater  length  if  we  would  properly  compre- 
hend the  part  which  he  took  on  the  stage  of  action. 
And  especially  must  we  attend  to  the  character  of 
Louis  XIV,  with  whom  Fenelon  was  brought  into 


The  Setting  of  the  Picture.  51 

such  exceeding  close  and  fateful  relations.  Louis 
came  to  the  throne  in  1643,  ^^^  ^s  he  was  then  only 
five  years  old  he  did  not  assume  personal  charge 
of  the  government.  Cardinal  Mazarin,  who  had 
succeeded  the  great  Richelieu  at  his  death  in  1642, 
was  chief  minister  in  the  Council  of  State  which 
advised  the  Queen  Mother  and  regent,  Anne  of 
Austria.  On  the  death  of  Mazarin  in  1661,  Louis 
took  supreme  direction  of  affairs,  and  retained  it 
until  his  death  in  171 5.  It  was  a  very  long  and,  m 
some  respects,  a  very  successful  reign,  the  most 
illustrious  in  French  annals;  a  sort  of  Solomonic 
era,  to  be  compared  with  the  age  of  Pericles  in 
Greece,  Augustus  in  Rome,  and  Elizabeth  in  Eng- 
land. It  was  brilliant  in  many  directions;  an  age 
of  conquest  and  the  extension  of  territory  abroad; 
an  age  of  great  personalities  in  literature  and  art 
at  home.  Among  the  latter  are  the  well-known 
names  of  Corneille,  the  tragic  poet;  Moliere,  the 
master  of  comedy ;  Racine,  La  Fontaine,  La  Roche- 
foucauld, La  Bruyere,  Pascal,  Malebranche,  and 
Madame  de  Sevigne.  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were 
born  during  this  reign,  but  mainly  flourished  later. 
Among  eminent  painters  were  Poussin,  Claude  Lor- 
rain,  Lebrun,  and  Mignard.  As  architects,  Man- 
sart  and  Perrault  were  famous;  among  sculptors, 
Piget;  among  composers,  Lulli.  Celebrated  in  the 
pulpit  were  Bossuet,  Bourdaloue,  Massillon,  and 
Flechier;  as  Church  historians,  Natalis  Alexander, 
Fleury,  and  Tillemont.    In  the  field  the  prestige  of 


52  Fenew>n:  The  Mystic 

the  French  armies  was  upheld  by  the  genius  of 
Turenne,  Conde,  Vauban,  Luxemburg,  and  Cati- 
nat.  Under  these  marshals  many  victories  were 
won  in  an  almost  constant  succession  of  wars  with 
Spain,  Holland,  England,  the  Empire,  and  other  an- 
tagonists. The  peace  which  Louis  dictated  to 
Europe  at  Nimeguen,  February  5,  1679,  raised  him 
to  his  highest  point  of  power  and  glory.  The  head- 
ship of  the  world  seemed  to  be  within  his  grasp, 
if  indeed  it  was  not  already  attained.  His  courtiers 
worshiped  him  as  a  demigod;  two  triumphal 
arches  were  erected  to  his  honor  in  Paris;  foreign 
governments  regarded  him  with  keen  apprehension 
or  with  servile  awe.  He  excited  wonder  and  fear 
throughout  the  continent,  for  his  ambitious  proj- 
ects of  still  vaster  dominion  seemed  to  threaten 
the  safety  and  independence  of  all  his  neighbors. 
He  was  possessed  of  a  strong  mind,  a  resolute  will, 
considerable  sagacity  and  penetration,  much  apti- 
tude for  business,  and  an  indefatigable  industry. 
His  powers  of  application  were  remarkable.  When 
he  gave  direction  in  1661  that  he  would  be  his  own 
prime  minister,  that  all  business  should  pass  through 
his  hands,  and  all  questions  be  decided  directly  by 
himself,  every  one  expected  that  he  would  soon 
tire  of  the  drudgery  which  this  would  impose ;  but 
he  kept  it  up  till  the  end  of  his  life,  laboring  regu- 
larly in  his  cabinet  eight  hours  a  day.  He  had  the 
most  extravagant  ideas  of  the  royal  prerogative.  He 
was  an  absolute,  irresponsible  monarch,  accustomed 


Th:^  Setting  of  the  Picture.  53 

to  say  and  mean,  "The  State:  it  is  myself."  Even 
the  property  of  the  realm  he  considered  as  his.  In 
an  instruction  to  his  son  he  declared,  "Kings  are 
absolute  lords  and  have  naturally  the  full  and  free 
disposal  of  all  the  goods  possessed,  as  well  by 
Churchmen  as  by  laymen,  to  use  them  at  all  times 
according  to  the  general  need  of  their  State."  Hav- 
ing this  conception  of  his  power,  regarding  his  au- 
thority as  delegated  immediately  from  heaven,  he 
surrounded  himself  with  those  who  would  be  sub- 
servient to  his  will,  and  the  one  avenue  of  advance- 
ment was  his  favor;  without  this,  virtue  and  merit 
had  little  or  no  chance  of  recognition.  He  made  his 
court  at  Versailles  a  very  splendid  one,  everywhere 
praised  and  admired  as  the  model  of  taste  and  re- 
finement. It  became  the  center  of  fashion  for 
Europe,  and  the  only  place  of  high  attraction  in 
the  kingdom.  Henri  Martin,  in  his  "History  of 
France,"  says:  "Whoever  had  once  tasted  this 
life  so  brilliant,  so  animated,  so  varied,  could  no 
longer  quit  it  and  return  to  his  native  manor  with- 
out dying  of  languor  and  ennui.  Everything 
seemed  cold  and  dead  away  from  this  place  of  en- 
joyment, which  appeared,  to  town  and  province,  as 
the  very  ideal  of  human  life."  It  is  estimated  that 
a  sum,  equal  to  more  than  400,000,000  francs  at  the 
present  rate,  was  laid  out  on  the  palaces  and  pleas- 
ure-grounds of  Versailles,  transforming  an  un- 
sightly district  into  fairy-land. 

Was  this  Louis  XIV,  then,  a  really  great  man? 


54  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

Not  when  tried  by  tests  that  go  far  and  reach 
deep.  As  one  has  said :  "His  claim  to  renown  lie*; 
more  in  the  diligent  and  tireless  ambition  with 
which  he  improved  favoring  circumstances  than  in 
the  creation  of  great  results  out  of  small  means  by 
force  of  personal  genius  and  energy.  It  is  also  a 
limiting  factor  in  our  estimate  of  Louis  that  he  ex- 
ercised no  care  to  husband  the  resources  of  his 
country,  and  sacrificed  to  thirst  for  personal  dis- 
play the  chances  of  future  prosperity.  This  impos- 
ing and  brilliant  reign  left  France  exhausted  and 
harboring  within  herself  the  germs  of  violent  revo- 
lution." In  the  latter  part  of  his  reign  the  coalition 
against  him  under  Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene 
proved  eminently  successful,  and  much  of  his  ill- 
gotten  acquisitions  had  to  be  disgorged.  Moreover, 
his  reign  was  also  a  failure  in  that,  for  the  sake  of 
slight  and  temporary  gains  on  the  continent  of 
Europe,  he  threw  away  the  opportunity  to  forestall 
in  Asia  and  America  the  progress  of  England,  so 
soon  to  pass  France  in  the  race  for  world  supremacy, 
and  left  his  kingdom,  at  the  close  of  his  reign,  ex- 
hausted and  crippled,  in  no  condition  to  enter  upon 
the  decisive  stage  of  the  great  conflict  whose  ap- 
proach he  did  not  foresee.  Before  his  burial  the 
eyes  of  Frenchmen  had  begun  to  be  open  to  the 
shadowy  side  of  his  reign;  the  glamour  and  the 
glory  could  no  longer  hide  the  tyranny  and  the 
shame,  and  very  few  mourned  at  the  death  of  the 
magnificent  despot.    He  was  far  from  great  also  in 


Thb  Setting  of  the  Picturi:.  55 

his  private  life;  for  that  was,  for  a  long  time,  one 
of  unblushing  licentiousness.  Different  mistresses 
were  made  successively,  and  in  part  simultaneously, 
the  rivals  of  his  dishonored  queen,  Maria  Theresa 
of  Spain,  who  died  in  1683.  No  less  than  ten  chil- 
dren were  born  to  him  out  of  wedlock,  and  pub- 
licly acknowledged.  After  the  death  of  his  queen 
he  did  somewhat  better,  being  privately  married  to 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  as  already  noted. 

The  cruel  persecutions  of  the  Huguenots  must 
also  be  set  down  against  the  king,  although  in  this, 
surely,  we  should  make  much  allowance  because  of 
the  feeling  of  the  age  in  such  matters — a  feeling  not 
by  any  means  the  same  as  in  our  day.  Louis,  like 
many  others  before  and  since,  endeavored  to  atone 
for  the  excesses  and  frailties  of  his  private  life  by 
his  public  zeal  for  orthodoxy,  fancying  that  the 
slaughter  of  heretics  would  offset  his  adulteries. 
His  crowning  crime  was  the  revocation  of  the  Edict 
of  Nantes.  By  this  arbitrary  act  of  unprovoked 
despotism  he  annulled  forever  all  the  highly  prized 
privileges  granted  to  the  Huguenots,  after  their 
large  sufferings  and  heroic  efforts  in  self-defense, 
by  Henry  IV  and  Louis  XHL  He  absolutely  pro- 
hibited the  exercise  of  their  religion  throughout  the 
kingdom,  with  the  sole  exception  of  Alsace ;  ordered 
their  temples  to  be  leveled  with  the  ground,  and 
their  ministers  to  quit  France  within  fifteen  days; 
forbade  the  people  to  follow  their  pastors  into 
exile  under  pain  of  confiscation  and  condemnation 


§6  Fen^i^on:  The  Mystic 

to  the  galleys;  and  required  their  children  to  be 
baptized  henceforth  by  the  Catholic  priests  and 
educated  as  members  of  the  Established  Church. 
Before  this,  in  the  earlier  years  of  the  reign,  strin- 
gent measures  had  been  set  in  operation  for  the  con- 
version of  the  Protestants  and  the  establishment  of 
uniformity  of  faith  and  Church  government 
throughout  the  kingdom.  Louis  was  intolerant  of 
dissent,  partly  from  political  motives.  He  could 
not  brook  that  any  of  his  subjects  should  exercise 
so  much  independence  and  freedom  of  thought  as 
was  involved  in  worshiping  God  or  thinking  about 
Him  after  a  different  pattern  from  the  one  set  by 
himself.  They  ought  all  to  take  their  opinions  from 
the  throne,  he  held,  in  religious  as  well  as  in  secular 
matters,  and  because  they  did  not  they  were  ex- 
tremely objectionable  and  dangerous.  As  early  as 
1656  a  disposition  was  shown  to  interpret  the  Edict 
of  Nantes — ^g^ven  by  Henry  IV,  April  15,  1598 — 
ill  a  narrow  partisan  fashion,  to  the  disadvantage 
of  the  Protestants.  Numbers  of  the  Reformed 
places  of  worship  were  shut  up  on  frivolous  pre- 
tenses. The  worshipers  were  excluded  from  all 
public  functions,  from  the  liberal  professions,  from 
the  universities,  from  engaging  in  various  branches 
of  commerce  and  industry.  They  were  forbidden 
to  intermarry  with  Catholics,  and  their  children 
were  encouraged  to  forsake  the  faith  of  their  par- 
ents by  being  declared  capable  of  choosing  for  them- 
selves at  the  age  of  seven  years.     Every  sort  of 


Th^  Setting  ojp  th^  Picture.  57 

pressure  was  applied.  A  Bureau  of  Conversions 
was  established  under  the  direction  of  the  Minister 
Pelissier,  who  disbursed  the  funds  intrusted  to  him 
at  the  rate  of  six  livres  for  every  abjuration  of  the 
Reformed  religion.  Milder  measures  not  proving 
sufficiently  efficacious  and  speedy,  more  severe  and 
savage  means  were  employed.  Dragoons  were  sent 
into  the  disturbed  districts  and  quartered  on  the  in- 
habitants; they  were  permitted,  and  even  encour- 
aged, to  abandon  themselves  to  every  kind  of  brutal 
license,  violence,  and  excess,  establishing  a  verita- 
ble reign  of  terror  wherever  they  appeared.  It  is 
no  wonder  that,  under  these  horrors,  wearied  and 
worried  well-nigh  to  death  by  such  intolerable  im- 
positions, great  numbers  of  Huguenots  recanted, 
nominally,  although,  of  course,  their  real  beliefs 
were  not  changed.  And  when  the  protecting  Edict 
was  formally  revoked,  still  more  fearful  cruelties 
followed.  Multitudes  of  the  Reformed,  obstinately 
refusing  obedience,  were  consigned  to  loathsome 
dungeons,  racked  with  exquisite  tortures,  and 
treated  with  every  kind  of  outrage  short  of  actual 
murder.  Numbers  of  females  were  immured  for 
life  in  convents ;  infants  were  torn  from  the  arms  of 
their  mothers;  their  property  was  destroyed,  and 
whole  districts  were  laid  waste.  How  far  the  king 
was  strictly  responsible  for  the  whole  of  these  hor- 
rors is  a  matter  of  some  question;  but  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  received  with  great  satisfaction  the 
chorus  of  congratulations,  on  this  memorable  Cath- 


58  Fenelon:  Th^  Mystic 

olic  triumph,  from  the  court  sycophants,  who  hailed 
him  as  the  new  Constantine,  and  who  included  in 
their  number  such  men  as  Bossuet,  Massillon,  Ra- 
cine, and  La  Fontaine.  But  Louis  inflicted  almost 
as  deadly  a  blow  upon  his  country  by  these  persecu- 
tions as  the  rulers  of  Spain  had  upon  theirs  when 
they  drove  out  the  Moors  and  Jews.  France  robbed 
herself  of  her  best  citizens,  the  most  enterprising 
and  industrious  of  her  skilled  artisans.  They  fled 
abroad  to  the  number  of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a 
million,  escaping  from  France  to  enrich  England, 
Holland,  and  other  countries  with  the  fruits  of  their 
labors.  Among  them  was  the  Duke  of  Schomberg, 
one  of  the  best  generals  of  his  time,  who  placed  his 
sword  at  the  disposal  of  the  Prince  of  Orange. 
Many  also  who  remained  were  so  crippled  and  de- 
pressed that  they  could  no  longer  render  their  best 
service.  Moreover,  a  bitter  and  profound  resent- 
ment was  kindled  in  the  Protestant  States  of 
Europe,  which  acted  very  unfavorably  upon  the 
foreign  relations  of  France,  and  strengthened  the 
hands  of  the  coalition  against  her.  So,  in  every 
sense,  the  policy  must  be  adjudged  a  mistaken  one, 
counting  against  the  greatness  of  the  king. 

It  is  important  to  inquire  what  was  the  state  of 
the  French  Church  at  this  period.  It  is  impossible, 
of  course,  for  us  to  enter  into  extended  details,  but 
we  can  hardly  understand  either  Fenelon  or  his 
times  without  knowing  something  about  the  eccle- 
siastical religious  questions  which  were  then  agitat- 


Thb  Setting  o^  th^  Picture.  59 

ing  the  public  mind.  Religion  was  by  no  means  in 
a  stagnant  state,  or  treated  with  indifference  and 
apathy ;  it  everywhere  excited  keenest  attention.  No 
subject  was  more  eagerly  discussed  or  occupied  a 
larger  share  of  thought.  Besides  the  general  con- 
troversy between  Protestants  and  Romanists,  there 
were  many  divisions  in  the  ranks  of  the  latter. 
There  was  fierce  conflict  between  the  Jesuits  and 
Jansenists,  also  between  the  Gallicans  and  Ultra- 
montanists.  For  a  full  recital  of  the  story  our 
readers  will  be  obliged  to  consult  Church  histories 
and  cyclopedias. 

Of  the  Jesuits  little  need  here  be  said ;  their  his- 
tory is  very  well  known.  Established  by  Ignatius 
Loyola  in  1540,  the  system  was,  in  the  period  we 
are  considering,  something  over  a  hundred  years 
old,  and  numbering  about  fifteen  thousand  mem- 
bers, of  whom  half  were  priests.  Its  leading  pur- 
poses were  the  overthrow  of  Protestantism  and  the 
strengthening  of  the  papacy.  It  had  a  magnificent 
organization,  it  largely  controlled  the  education  of 
the  youth  of  the  better  classes  of  society,  and  it 
was  intensely  zealous  in  missionary  operations, 
Francis  Xavier,  so  illustrious  in  this  matter,  being 
one  of  its  original  founders.  In  politics  it  often 
favored  popular  rights,  especially  if  it  would  ben- 
efit the  papacy  by  reducing  the  power  of  the  sover- 
eign ;  yet  it  usually  secured  control  over  the  princes 
by  obtaining  their  ear  in  the  confessional.  In  doc- 
trine it  was   opposed  to  Augustinianism,  and  in 


6o  Fenewn:  The  Mystic 

ethics  became  notorious  for  most  dangerous  loose- 
ness. It  should  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  the 
order  had  at  all  times  many  members  eminent  for 
piety  and  strict  morality,  some  of  the  highest  saints 
being  numbered  with  them.  In  France  the  impor- 
tant office  of  confessor  to  the  king  was  filled  by 
members  of  this  order  under  Henry  IV,  Louis  XIII, 
XIV,  XV ;  and,  of  course,  in  this  way  an  enormous 
influence  was  exercised  upon  the  royal  policy  at 
home  and  abroad.  The  connivance  of  these  con- 
fessors with  the  scandalous  lives  of  the  kings  did 
more  than  anything  else  to  undermine  respect  for 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  for  religion  in  gen- 
eral among  the  educated  classes.  Between  the 
Jesuits  and  Jansenists  there  was  fierce  war. 

The  latter  took  their  name  from  Bishop  Cor- 
nelius Jansen,  of  Ypern,  who  died  in  1638,  after  de- 
voting his  whole  life  to  the  study  of  the  works  of 
St.  Augustine.  His  followers  were  Augustinians 
in  the  fullest  sense  of  the-  term,  accepting  the  ex- 
treme doctrines  of  election  and  predestination  which 
are  known  among  Protestants  as  Calvinism;  but 
this  in  no  way  predisposed  them  to  favor  the 
Huguenots.  On  the  contrary  they  seemed  to  hate 
them  all  the  more  because  of  this  manifest  approach 
to  them  in  some  of  their  principles,  partly  because 
it  exposed  them  to  a  galling  criticism  from  the 
Jesuits.  The  Jansenists  in  many  ways  recommend 
themselves  to  our  approval.  They  opposed  a  sim- 
ply formal  righteousness,  insisted  on  the  necessity 


The  Siting  oi?  the;  Picture  6i 

for  an  inward  preparation  to  receive  benefits  from 
the  sacraments,  and  laid  stress  upon  the  reading  of 
the  Scriptures.  In  regard  to  morals,  they  advocated 
rigid  self-discipline,  were  foes  of  luxury,  the  thea- 
ter, and  other  doubtful  or  noxious  pleasures.  They 
also  had  more  independence  than  most  classes  of 
society.  They  were  not  ready  to  surrender  every- 
thing to  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  the  king;  they 
stood  for  liberty  in  the  Church.  In  point  of  ability 
and  culture  they  furnished  some  of  the  best  minds 
of  France,  and  some  of  the  best  models  of  literary 
excellence  which  the  age  could  boast.  Blaise  Pas- 
cal, whose  "Provincial  Letters"  (1656)  against  the 
Jesuits  inflicted  upon  them  so  severe  a  blow  by 
their  scathing  exposures,  was  of  this  party.  So  was 
De  Sacy,  who  translated  the  Bible  into  the  version 
in  general  use ;  and  Antoine  Arnauld,  the  celebrated 
scholar  and  Doctor  of  the  Sorbonne,  ^e  theological 
department  of  the  University  of  Paris.  His  sister, 
Jacqueline,  became  abbess  of  the  convent  of  Port 
Royal  near  Paris,  and  made  it  renowned  for  its 
purity  and  piety.  Jansenism  or  "Calvinistic  Cathol- 
icism," as  it  has  been  called,  finally  went  down 
before  its  enemies,  the  popes  deciding  against  it 
more  than  once.  On  many  accounts  it  deserved  a 
better  fate;  but  we  can  not  regret  that  such  a 
travesty  of  Christianity  as  the  sole  salvation  of  an 
arbitrarily  limited  and  eternally  selected  few  was 
as  conclusively  defeated  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  as  it  has  since  been  in  the  Protestant. 


62  Fenelon  :  The  Mystic 

The  Jesuits  were  Ultramontanes ;  that  is,  they 
did  everything  they  could  to  strengthen  the  author- 
ity from  beyond  the  mountains,  residing  in  the  city 
on  the  Tiber.  The  Jansenists  favored  Gallicanism. 
A  few  words  are  necessary  about  this  latter,  for  it 
had  a  large  place  in  the  discussions  of  the  time, 
and  echoes  of  it  have  continued  to  our  day,  the  long 
conflict  coming  to  an  end  in  the  recent  rupture  of 
the  Concordat  between  France  and  the  Vatican. 
The  quarrel  is  of  very  long  standing.  It  is  his- 
torically certain  that  at  a  very  early  period  the 
National  Church  of  France  had  a  character  of  free- 
dom peculiar  to  itself.  The  Frankish  Church  in  the 
time  of  Charlemagne  gave  evidence  of  a  spirit  and 
temper  obviously  different  from  the  Italian  ideal  of 
the  Church  as  organized  under  the  popes.  The 
French  Parliaments  from  time  to  time  manfully  re- 
sisted encroachments  on  their  powers  or  those  of 
their  kings,  from  beyond  the  mountains.  As  early 
as  1269,  Louis  IX  of  France  issued  an  edict — so  it 
is  alleged — called  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  in  which 
he  strove  to  protect  the  freedom  of  Church  elections 
and  the  rights  of  patrons  from  the  interference  of 
the  popes,  and  forbade  papal  taxation  without  the 
consent  of  the  monarch.  This  conflict  went  on 
through  the  centuries  with  various  incidents  and 
differing  results,  which  need  not  here  be  followed, 
although  it  is  a  very  interesting  story.  In  the  time 
of  Louis  XIV  matters  naturally  came  to  a  head 
through  the  determination  of  that  monarch  to  ex- 


Th5  Setting  of  the  Picture.  63 

tend  his  absolute  authority  over  the  Church  as  well 
as  the  State,  and  through  the  support  which  he  re- 
ceived from  the  strong  feeling  of  nationality  which 
dominated  the  French  people  during  his  reign, 
Louis's  aim  was  to  exercise  such  power  in  eccle- 
siastical matters  in  France  as  Henry  VIII  had  taken 
to  himself  in  England,  but  not  to  effect  a  complete 
rupture  with  Rome.  In  particular  he  determined 
to  enforce  the  right  of  the  crown  to  the  revenue 
and  the  patronage  connected  with  vacant  sees,  which 
had  long  been  exercised  over  a  large  part  of  the 
realm;  he  insisted  on  extending  it  to  all  the  prov- 
inces. An  assembly  of  the  clergy  was  called  in 
1682,  under  the  lead  of  Bossuet,  the  chief  cham- 
pion of  the  king  in  these  matters.  Four  important 
articles  formulating  the  opposition  of  France  to 
the  high  claims  of  the  papacy  were  drawn  up  by 
Bossuet,  subscribed  to  by  this  assembly,  and  con- 
firmed by  the  civil  authorities.  They  contained  in 
substance  the  following  specifications:  (i)  The 
pope's  authority,  as  also  that  of  the  Church  in  gen- 
eral, is  confined  to  things  spiritual.  He  has  no 
prerogative  to  depose  kings  and  princes  or  to  re- 
lease their  subjects  from  allegiance.  (2)  The  de- 
crees promulgated  at  Constance  respecting  the  au- 
thority of  Ecumenical  Councils  subsist  in  full  force. 
(3)  In  the  use  of  his  power  the  pope  must  respect 
the  ecclesiastical  canons,  as"  also  such  constitutions 
as  are  received  in  the  kingdom  and  Church  of 
France.   (4)  While  the  pope  has  the  principal  voice 


64  FeneivOn:  The  Mystic 

in  matters  of  faith,  his  judgment  is  subject  to 
amendment  until  it  has  been  approved  by  the 
Church. 

Bossuet,  the  leading  spirit  of  this  assembly,  and 
indeed  the  most  powerful  and  commanding  Church- 
man of  his  day,  esteemed  the  boasted  infallibility  of 
the  pope  a  baseless  fiction.  He  allowed  that  inde- 
fectibility  belongs  to  the  chair  of  Peter  in  the 
sense  that  heresy  can  not  find  there  any  continuous 
and  stubborn  support.  But  this,  he  maintained,  in 
no  wise  precluded  a  temporary  aberration  of  the 
individual  pontiff  or  the  competency  of  the  universal 
Church  to  administer  correction  to  the  pontiff.  Such 
principles  had  been  at  home  in  France  ever  since  the 
era  of  the  great  Reform  Councils  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  pope — Innocent  XI  was  then  in  the 
chair — was  highly  incensed,  and  refused  confirma- 
tion to  those  members  of  the  assembly  of  1682 
whom  the  king  nominated  to  episcopal  sees.  Af- 
fairs remained  in  a  very  unsettled  condition  for  a 
considerable  interval,  no  mode  of  accommodation 
being  reached,  each  party  standing  its  ground ;  but 
in  1691  the  French  Church  found  itself  with  thirty- 
five  bishoprics  vacant,  and  the  king  allowed  the 
twelve  signers  of  the  declaration  whom  he  had  nom- 
inated as  bishops,  but  whom  the  pope  had  thus  far 
refused  to  recognize  as  such,  to  retract  all  that  had 
displeased  the  pontiff.  The  pope  also  gained  some 
advantage  from  the  bitter  partisan  conflicts  within 
the  Gallican  Church  during  the  closing  years  of 
Louis  XIV. 


Thb  Setting  o^  the  Picture.  65 

As  to  the  amount  of  spiritual  life  in  the  Church 
during  these  years  it  is  not  so  easy  to  acquire  re- 
liable information  as  it  is  concerning  the  more  out- 
ward events.  But  there  are  many  indications  that 
it  was  very  considerable,  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  at  that  period  was  in  a  very  much  better 
state  than  it  is  at  present.  There  was  an  evident 
desire  among  a  large  number  of  its  clergy  to  rid 
it  of  its  gross  superstitions.  They  opposed  some  of 
its  absurdities,  omitted  many  of  its  ridiculous  cere- 
monies, endeavored  to  render  Catholicism  more  ra- 
tional and  intelligent,  more  Scriptural  and  pious. 
There  are  tokens  that  France  had  then  a  very  large 
number  of  true  followers  of  the  Savior;  some  in 
elevated  stations  whose  virtues  shine  afar,  but  many 
more  in  obscure  positions,  God's  hidden  ones, 
known  only  to  Him  and  to  those  immediately 
around  them.  Among  the  more  prominent  of  the 
writers  on  spiritual  subjects  flourishing  at  this  time 
in  France  may  be  mentioned  Antoinette  Bourignon 
(died  1680),  whose  published  works  amount  to 
twenty-five  volumes:  one  of  her  hymns,  "Come, 
Savior,  Jesus,  from  above,"  translated  by  John  Wes- 
ley, is  in  our  Hymnal,  No.  379.  Peter  Poiret  (died 
in  1719),  court  preacher  of  the  Palatine,  was  an 
admirer  of  Madame  Bourignon,  whose  works  he 
published ;  he  also  brought  out  the  works  of  Madame 
Guyon  in  thirty-nine  volumes;  he  was  both  a  phi- 
losopher and  a  deeply  pious  man.  The  Baron  de 
Renty  (1611-1649)  was  a  man  of  the  profoundest 
5 


66  Fenew)n:  The  Mystic 

spirituality,  greatly  admired  by  Wesley,  who  spoke 
of  him  in  the  highest  terms,  and  published  his  life. 
Alphonsus  de  Sarasa  (died  in  1666)  gave  to  the 
world  "The  Art  of  Always  Rejoicing,"  a  beautiful 
book,  filled  with  the  deepest  Christian  philosophy. 
The  Abbe  Guillore,  also  a  contemporary  of  Fene- 
lon  and  belonging  to  the  same  school  of  piety,  left 
to  the  world  as  his  monument  a  treatise  on  "Self- 
Renunciation,"  or  the  "Art  of  Dying  to  Self  and 
Living  for  the  Love  of  Jesus."  And  Nicholas  Her- 
man, better  known  as  Brother  Lawrence,  admitted, 
in  1666,  as  a  lay  brother  among  the  barefooted  Car- 
melites at  Paris,  is  still  known  in  the  realm  of  pure 
and  undefiled  religion  by  his  letters  on  "The  Prac- 
tice of  the  Presence  of  God,"  published  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  Cardinal  de  Noailles.  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul  (died  1660),  to  mention  but  one  more  of  these 
illustrious  names,  founder  of  the  order  of  Sisters 
of  Charity,  was  a  philanthropist  of  the  first  rank. 
Neglected  children,  condemned  criminals,  prisoners 
of  the  cell  and  the  galley,  all  classes  of  the  poor  and 
the  unfortunate,  received  from  him  a  sympathy  as 
practical  as  it  was  warm  and  persevering.  Conse- 
crated activity  he  regarded  as  the  essence  of  relig- 
ion. The  spirit  of  his  life  is  well  expressed  in  his 
own  words :  "The  genuine  mark  of  loving  God  is 
a  good  and  perfect  action.  It  is  only  our  works 
which  accompany  us  into  the  other  life."  From  all 
this  it  is  seen  that  the  age  and  land  which  produced 
Fenelon  had  many  other  sons  and  daughters  of  very 
similar  excellence. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PRECEPTOR  TO  THE  PRINCE. 

Louis  XIV,  being  bent  upon  the  subjection  of 
the  Huguenots,  and  knowing  full  well  that  violence 
alone  could  accomplish  the  matter  only  in  part,  cast 
about  in  his  mind  for  a  suitable  person  to  under- 
take the  milder  role  of  persuasion.  Fenelon  had 
already  attracted  notice  both  by  his  good  work  at 
the  community  of  New  Catholics  and  also  by  the 
treatise  which  he  had  written  in  defense  of  the 
Apostolic  Succession.  So  when  Bossuet  suggested 
him  as  a  suitable  commissioner  for  the  districts  of 
Poitou  and  Saintonge,  in  the  West,  not  far  from 
the  Protestant  stronghold  of  La  Rochelle,  districts 
where  great  confusion  and  irritation  prevailed,  and 
where  only  a  tender,  judicious  hand  could  hope  to 
guide  matters,  the  king  very  gladly  made  the  ap- 
pointment. Fenelon,  before  accepting  it,  made  two 
stipulations.  One  was  that  he  should  be  allowed 
to  choose  his  fellow-workers.  He  selected  the  Abbe 
de  Langeron,  his  lifelong  friend,  the  Abbe  Fleury, 
the  well-known  historian,  the  Abbe  Bertier,  and 
the  Abbe  Milon,  who  later  on  became  respectively 
Bishops  of  Blois  and  of  Condom.  The  other  stipula- 
tion was  that   the  troops,  together  with  all    that 

67 


68  Fenki/)n:  Th^  Mystic 

savored  of  military  terrorism,  should  be  withdrawn 
before  he  entered  on  what  should  be  solely  a  work 
of  peace  and  mercy.  There  had  been  terrible  do- 
ings and  violent  outrages  with  which  Fenelon 
could  have  no  sympathy.  There  is  no  doubt  what- 
ever upon  this  point.  His  own  words  are  abun- 
dantly on  record.  Although  the  country  was  so  dis- 
turbed, he  positively  refused  a  military  escort;  and 
when  the  king  represented  the  danger  he  might  be 
exposed  to,  he  answered:  "Sire,  ought  a  mission- 
ary to  fear  danger  ?  If  you  hope  for  an  apostolical 
harvest,  we  must  go  in  the  true  character  of  apos- 
tles. I  would  rather  perish  by  the  hands  of  my 
mistaken  brethren  than  see  one  of  them  exposed 
to  the  inevitable  violence  of  the  military."  In  a  let- 
ter to  a  duke  he  says,  "The  work  of  God  is  not  ef- 
fected in  the  heart  by  force;  that  is  not  the  true 
spirit  of  the  Gospel." 

He  had  the  extremely  difficult  task  of  showing 
to  Protestants  whose  property  had  been  pillaged, 
whose  families  had  been  scattered,  whose  blood  had 
been  shed  like  water,  the  truth  and  excellence  of 
the  religion  of  their  persecutors.  That  this  could  be 
done  to  any  very  extensive  degree  might  well  be 
questioned.  But  the  missionaries  were  character- 
ized by  ability,  mildness,  prudence,  benevolence,  and 
sound  judgment,  and  they  did  all  that  any  reasona- 
ble persons  could  expect.  The  people  of  these 
provinces  were  amazed  to  see  men  of  high  birth  and 
position    leaving  the  court    and  capital    to  come 


Preceptor  to  the  Prince.  69 

among  them.  They  supposed  that,  at  all  events, 
such  men  would  be  luxurious  and  haughty,  as  they 
had  been  told ;  but  when,  on  the  contrary,  they  saw 
the  missionaries  nothing  but  lowly,  self-denying, 
simple-mannered  priests,  whose  real  aims  seemed 
to  be  the  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  advantage  of 
those  among  whom  they  lived,  prejudice  began  to 
melt  away.  In  February,  1686 — the  mission  began 
in  December,  1685,  and  lasted  till  July,  1686,  being 
renewed  for  a  few  months  in  the  next  year.  May 
to  July,  1687 — Fenelon  wrote  to  the  Marquis  de 
Seignelai,  Secretary  of  State,  and  brother  to  the 
Duchess  de  Beauvilliers :  "In  the  present  condition 
of  men's  minds  we  could  easily  bring  them  all  to 
confession  and  communion  if  we  chose  to  use  a  little 
pressure  and  so  glorify  our  mission.  But  what  is 
the  good  of  bringing  men  to  confession  who  do  not 
yet  recognize  the  Church  ?  How  can  we  give  Jesus 
Christ  to  those  who  do  not  believe  they  are  receiv- 
ing Him?  We  should  expect  to  bring  a  terrible 
curse  upon  us  if  we  were  satisfied  with  hasty,  super- 
ficial work,  all  meant  for  show.  We  can  but  multi- 
ply our  instructions,  invite  the  people  to  come 
heartily  to  sacraments,  but  give  them  only  to  those 
who  come  of  their  own  accord  to  seek  them  in  un- 
reserved submission.  I  must  not  forget  to  add  that 
we  want  a  great  quantity  of  books,  especially  New 
Testaments."  Again  he  writes  later:  "The  com 
you  have  sent  so  cheaply  proves  to  the  people  that 
our  charity  is  practical.    It  is  the  most  persuasive 


70  Fenei^on:  The  Mystic. 

kind  of  controversy.  It  amazes  them,  for  they  see 
the  exact  reverse  of  all  their  ministers  have  taught 
them  as  incontrovertibly  true.  We  need  preachers 
to  explain  the  Gospel  every  Sunday  with  a  loving, 
winning  authority ;  people  brought  up  in  dissent 
are  only  to  be  won  by  the  words  spoken  to  them. 
We  must  give  New  Testaments  profusely  every- 
where, but  they  must  be  in  large  type ;  the  people 
can  not  read  small  print.  We  can  not  expect  them 
to  buy  Catholic  books.  It  is  a  great  thing  if  they 
will  read  what  costs  them  nothing;  indeed  the 
greater  proportion  can  not  afford  to  buy."  He 
wrote  also  to  Bossuet  in  March,  1686,  "Our  con- 
verts get  on,  but  very  slowly ;  it  is  no  trifling  mat- 
ter to  change  the  opinions  of  a  whole  people."  It 
is  very  evident  that  Fenelon  had  the  most  sincere 
desire  for  the  conversion  of  the  Protestants,  be- 
lieving, of  course,  as  he  did,  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart,  that  they  were  destined  to  eternal  woe. 
Brought  up  in  the  atmosphere  in  which  he  was,  he 
could  not  possibly  sympathize  with  their  position, 
could  not  regard  their  heroism  as  other  than  ob- 
stinacy. But  such  was  the  natural  mildness  of  his 
disposition  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  demands 
of  genuine  religion,  that  he  could  in  no  way  be  con- 
tent with  a  merely  nominal  acquiescence  or  con- 
sent, and  with  the  use  of  that  force  by  which  such 
acquiescence  was  obtained. 

His  mission  to  Saintonge  has  been  called  a  dark 
page  in  his  life.    Yet  the  strongly  prejudiced  writer 


Prdc^ptor  to  tnt  Princb.  71 

who  so  characterizes  it  says  in  the  same  connection, 
after  referring  to  Fenelon's  firm  stand  against  vio- 
lence and  the  forcing  of  conscience:  "To  us  this 
measure  of  clemency  seems  bare  and  scanty  enough ; 
in  Fenelon's  own  time  it  was  both  unusual  and  ef- 
fective. His  counsels  of  mercy  had  weight  with  the 
minister,  and  led  to  the  suppression  of  various 
abuses,  civil  as  well  as  ecclesiastical.  They  mani- 
festly gained  for  him  the  affection  of  his  proselytes, 
and,  stirring  up  against  him  the  bile  of  the  more 
rigid  Catholics,  seem  to  ITave  stood  in  the  way  of 
his  promotion  to  the  bishopric."  It  was  a  little  after 
this  that  he  was  appointed  to  the  See  of  Poitiers, 
which  was  the  chief  city  of  Poitou,  but  De  Harlai, 
who  by  this  time  was  anything  but  a  friend,  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  it  immediately  revoked;  and  the 
next  year  the  archbishop  was  again  successful  in 
his  unworthy  maneuvers.  The  Bishop  of  Rochelle 
had  been  greatly  impressed  by  the  zeal  and  gentle 
wisdom  of  the  young  missioner,  and  he  now  came 
to  Paris,  without  giving  Fenelon  any  hint  of  his  in- 
tention, to  ask  the  king  to  appoint  him  as  Coadjutor 
Bishop  of  Rochelle.  It  would  have  been  done  but 
for  the  insinuations  of  De  Harlai  that  the  attraction 
between  the  two  men  was  a  mutual  leaning  to  Jan- 
senism, and  as  this  was  always  a  sore  point  with 
Louis,  he  at  once  refused  to  make  the  appointrgent. 
Fenelon  might  easily  have  refuted  these  assertions 
— for  there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  them,  as  his 
close  friendship  with  Bossuet,  Tronson,  and  others, 


72  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

showed — ^but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  so  to  do. 
He  was  not  ambitious  of  dignities. 

Was  his  mission  to  Saintonge  and  Poitou  a 
dark  page  in  his  history  ?  We  can  hardly  look  upon 
it  in  this  light.  It  seems  to  us  that  he  comes  out 
of  it  with  considerable  credit.  Can  we  take  it  amiss 
in  him  that  he  was  a  stanch  adherent  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  not  only  at  this  time,  but  through- 
out all  his  life?  Not  if  we  are  reasonable,  and  do 
not  demand  miracles  where  there  is  no  occasion  for 
expecting  them.  Shall  we  withhold  our  admiration 
from  those  who  do  not  rise  entirely  superior  to  all 
their  surroundings,  and  see  things  as  we,  in  totally 
different  conditions,  see  them?  In  that  case,  dealt 
with  after  so  harsh  a  judgment,  we  ourselves  might 
come  off  badly,  and  we  should  most  certainly  have 
to  bar  out  from  our  favor  a  very  large  proportion 
of  the  men  who  have  done  the  most  for  the  world's 
advancement. 

It  was  about  this  same  time  that  Sir  Matthew 
Hale  in  England  (he  died  in  1676) — who  was  reck- 
oned the  best  judge  of  his  time,  acute,  learned,  sen- 
sible, setting  himself  strongly  agaimst  bribery,  one 
of  the  serious  vices  of  his  age,  a  friend  of  Richard 
Baxter,  an  austere  scholar,  leaning  to  the  side  of 
the  Puritans — sentenced  women  to  be  executed  for 
witchcraft,  and  sent  John  Bunyan  to  jail  for  fre- 
quenting conventicles,  politely  dismissing,  without 
redress,  his  wife,  who  pleaded  for  his  discharge. 
And  in  our  own   time  we  have  seen   the  Earl  of 


Prsce;ptor  to  thk  Prince.  73 

Shaftesbury,  who  did  such  wonderful  things  for 
the  oppressed  in  some  directions,  most  bitter  against 
the  reformers  in  all  other  lines  except  his  own,  the 
stanchest  of  Tories,  and  the  most  rigid  of  Church- 
men, denouncing  the  democratic  principle  as  anti- 
Christian,  and  upholding  the  infamous  Conventicle 
Act,  which  forbade  worship  in  a  private  house  by 
more  than  twenty  persons.  Similar  inconsistencies 
can  be  pointed  out  in  the  record  of  nearly  all  good 
men.  What  does  it  prove?  Simply  that  it  is  given 
to  very  few  to  rise  much  above  the  age  in  which 
they  live,  or  to  be  at  all  points  independent  of  the 
impress  placed  upon  them  in  their  early  years.  We 
see  no  reason  to  believe  that  Fenelon's  attitude 
toward  the  Protestants  of  his  day  was  other  than 
an  entirely  sincere  and  conscientious  one,  such  as 
might  be  fairly  looked  for  in  a  person  of  his  sur- 
roundings. 

It  is  possible  to  impute  sinister  and  selfish  mo- 
tives to  any,  if  one  is  so  disposed,  but  we  see  no 
benefit  from  this  policy.  It  is  not  the  way  we  would 
wish  to  be  treated  ourselves.  Almost  every  act  of  a 
man's  life  is  susceptible  of  an  evil  construction,  if 
sufficient  pains  is  taken  and  sufficient  force  applied. 
But  we  can  not  join  with  those  who  appear  to  de- 
light in  pulling  down  from  their  pedestals  all  that 
have  been  lifted  above  their  fellows  in  goodness  by 
the  general  suffrage  of  mankind.  Truth,  of  course, 
is  to  be  sought  at  all  costs.  But  it  makes  a  vast 
difference  from  what  standpoint  the  facts  are  ap- 


74  Fenew)n:  The  Mystic 

preached,  whether  with  suspicion  and  aversion,  or 
cordial  appreciation  and  comprehension.  There  is 
often  an  underlying  dislike  to  a  certain  type  of 
character  or  to  certain  sentiments  and  opinions,  be- 
cause of  the  wide  difference  between  them  and  those 
which  the  writer  himself  holds  and  practices,  which 
makes  it  impossible  that  he  should  see  them  in  an 
unbiased  light.  We  can  not  escape  the  conclusion 
that  Fenelon  has  been  treated  by  some  recent  writers 
in  this  manner,  and  we  protest  against  its  unfair- 
ness. 

It  may  be  truthfully  said  that  Fenelon,  while 
doing  faithfully  what  appeared  to  him  the  duty  of 
the  hour  on  this  mission,  did  not  particularly  enjoy 
it.  He  had  no  love  for  life  in  the  country  or  for  the 
work  in  which  he  was  engaged.  He  longed  for 
the  quiet  of  his  former  post,  with  its  larger  oppor- 
tunities for  study  and  reflection,  and  for  the  time 
when  he  should  be  free  to  return  to  Paris.  In  a 
letter  to  Bossuet  he  playfully  threatens  to  bring  sus- 
picion of  heresy  upon  himself  or  "incur  a  lucky  dis- 
grace*' that  might  give  him  excuse  for  his  recall. 
He  was  permitted,  shortly  after  this,  to  go  back  to 
his  place  at  the  New  Catholics,  where  for  some  two 
years  more  he  occupied  himself  in  a  quiet,  incon- 
spicuous manner.  Summing  up  the  results  of  his 
controversial  work  among  the  Huguenots,  we  are 
disposed  to  conclude,  with  one  of  his  biographers, 
that  "if  his  moderation  and  humanity  in  an  age  in 
which  such  qualities  were  not  esteemed,  were  re- 


Preceptor  to  the  Prince.  75 

membered  against  him  when  other  clouds  were 
gathering,  and  contributed  to  his  ultimate  ruin,  they 
add  no  less  grace  to  the  record  of  his  life,  and  must 
have  deepened  his  influence  with  those  whose  eyes 
were  undimmed  by  prejudice  and  bigotry." 

The  most  important  period  in  the  life  of  F6ne- 
lon  was  now  to  begin;  that  for  which  the  earlier 
years  were  but  a  preparation;  that  which  would 
color  and  dominate  all  his  succeeding  days.  The 
time  had  come  when  the  little  grandson  of  the  king, 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  hope  of  France  (for  his 
father,  the  dauphin,  was  a  failure,  wholly  incom- 
petent to  fill  any  large  place),  should  pass  from  the 
hands  of  nurses  to  masculine  rule.  What  could  be 
of  greater  importance,  considering  how  much  was  at 
stake  for  the  kingdom,  than  the  proper  selection 
of  those  who  should  take  this  weighty  charge? 
When  the  dauphin  had  been  at  a  similar  stage  of 
his  education  he  was  committed  to  the  care  of  the 
Duke  de  Montausier  and  Bossuet  as  the  greatest 
and  most  celebrated  men  of  their  day.  But  though 
they  did  their  best,  the  course  they  took  was  not  in 
all  respects  well  advised,  and  the  results,  at  least, 
had  not  been  satisfactory.  This  would  make  the 
utmost  care  now  all  the  more  imperative.  Happily 
the  king  was  fully  alive  to  his  responsibility,  and, 
in  addition  to  his  own  penetration,  had  the  benefit 
of  good  counsel  in  the  matter.  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  was  now  a  power  at  court,  and  was  using 
her  influence  in  the  best  directions.    She  was  a  warm 


76  Feneu)n:  Thb  Mystic 

friend  of  the  Duke  de  Beauvilliers,  who  also  stood 
high  in  the  good  graces  of  Louis ;  for  the  monarch, 
in  spite  of  his  own  serious  lapses  from  virtue,  ad- 
mired it  in  others,  and  knew  its  importance  with 
the  young.  The  duke  was  accordingly  made  gov- 
ernor of  the  royal  grandchildren,  Burgundy  and 
his  two  younger  brothers,  with  unlimited  power  of 
nominating  all  the  other  officers  about  them  and 
all  the  inferior  attendants.  He  had  no  hesitation  as 
to  the  best  preceptor  France  could  produce  for  the 
little  prince,  and  immediately  named  Fenelon,  a 
choice  which  was  loudly  applauded  by  the  public 
throughout  the  kingdom.  The  people  said  that 
Louis  the  Great  had  once  more  outshone  all  earlier 
monarchs,  and  shown  himself  wiser  than  Phillip  of 
Macedon  when  he  appointed  Aristotle  tutor  to  his 
son.  Bossuet  was  overjoyed  at  the  good  fortune  of 
Church  and  State,  and  regretted  only  that  the  Mar- 
quis de  Fenelon  had  not  lived  to  see  an  elevation  of 
the  merit  which  hid  itself  with  so  much  care.  It 
was  a  great  surprise  to  the  recipient,  who  was  lead- 
ing his  ordinary  retired  life,  neither  seeking  nor  ex- 
pecting court  favor.  It  was  a  great  gratification  to 
his  friends,  who  poured  in  lavish  congratulations. 
But  M.  Tronson,  the  wise  old  tutor  from  St.  Sul- 
pice,  wrote  that  his  joy  was  mixed  with  fear,  con- 
sidering the  perils  to  which  his  favorite  pupil  would 
now  be  exposed.  He  says:  "It  opens  the  door  to 
earthly  greatness,  but  you  must  fear  lest  it  should 
close  that  of  the  real  greatness  of  heaven.    You  are 


Pr^c^ptor  to  the  Prince.  77 

thrown  into  a  region  where  the  Gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  is  little  known,  and  where  even  those  who 
know  it  use  their  knowledge  chiefly  as  a  means  to 
win  human  respect.  If  ever  the  study  and  medita- 
tion of  Holy  Scripture  were  necessary  to  you,  nov/ 
indeed  they  have  become  overwhelmingly  indis- 
pensable. Above  all,  it  is  of  infinite  importance  that 
you  never  lose  sight  of  the  final  hour  of  death,  when 
all  this  world's  glory  will  fade  away  like  a  dream, 
and  every  earthly  stay  on  which  you  may  have 
leaned  must  fail."  This  counsel  was  most  credita- 
ble to  both  tutor  and  pupil,  showing  a  love  stronger 
than  ordinary  friendship.  The  post  which  seemed 
so  dazzling  and  so  promising  did  indeed  prove  one 
of  much  danger  as  well  as  glory,  but  not  exactly 
in  the  way  that  the  aged  teacher  anticipated. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy,  now  seven  years  old, 
was,  in  the  most  emphatic  sense,  an  enfant  terrible. 
He  was  very  different  from  his  heavy,  stupid 
father,  inheriting  some  of  his  qualities,  it  is  said, 
from  his  mother,  Mary  Anne  of  Bavaria,  a  delicate, 
melancholy,  unattractive  princess,  passionate,  proud, 
and  caustic.  Burgundy  was  a  frail,  unhealthy  crea- 
ture, whose  body  lacked  symmetry  as  well  as  his 
mind.  One  shoulder  very  early  outgrew  the  other, 
defying  the  most  cruel  efforts  of  the  surgeons  to 
set  it  right,  and  doing  serious  mischief  to  his  gen- 
eral health.  His  nervous  system  was  much  de- 
ranged, so  that  he  was  subject  to  hurricanes  of  pas- 
sion.    The  least  contradiction  made  him  furious. 


78  Fenbu>n:  The  Mystic. 

He  would  fall  into  ungovernable  fits  of  rage  even 
against  inanimate  objects.  He  had  an  insatiable  ap- 
petite for  all  sorts  of  pleasure.  His  pride  and  ar- 
rogance were  indescribable.  Mankind  he  looked 
upon  as  atoms  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon ;  his  brothers  were  only  intermediate  beings  be- 
tween him  and  the  human  race.  He  had  a  quick, 
penetrating  mind,  and  a  marvelous  memory.  He 
was  stiff  against  threats,  on  his  guard  against  flat-' 
tery,  amenable  only  to  reason ;  but  by  no  means  al- 
ways to  that.  Often  when  it  reasserted  itself,  after 
one  of  his  tornadoes,  he  was  so  much  ashamed  of 
himself  that  he  fell  into  a  new  fit  of  rage.  He 
was,  however,  frank  and  truthful  in  the  extreme. 

Such  was  the  prince  who — with  his  brothers,  the 
Duke  of  Anjou,  afterwards  Philip  V  of  Spain,  and 
the  Duke  of  Berri — was  committed  entirely  to  the 
care  of  Fenelon.  When  he  accepted  his  new  ap- 
pointment he  abandoned  all  other  offices  and  occu- 
pations, permitting  himself  no  distractions  even  of 
friendship,  that  he  might  concentrate  all  his  powers 
of  insight  and  reflection  upon  his  charges.  Now, 
indeed,  his  studies  of  education  would  be  fully 
tested,  and  on  the  most  conspicuous  conceivable 
field  his  theories  must  be  reduced  to  practice.  It 
is  said  that  "he  pursued  only  one  system,  which 
was  to  have  none."  In  other  words,  he  devoted  his 
fertile  mind  to  meeting  the  necessities  of  the  hour 
as  they  arose  in  his  volatile,  chameleon-like  pupil, 
instead  of  subjecting  him  to  a  Procrustean  system 


Pr^ckptor  to  rut  Prince.  79 

which  could  only  have  had  the  worst  outcome.  His 
facile  pen  was  employed  without  stint  in  the  service 
of  his  pupil.  Many  fables,  some  in  French,  some  in 
Latin,  full  of  poetry  and  grace,  were  written  to 
convey  special  lessons  to  the  little  duke.  "Dialogues 
of  the  Dead"  also  were  composed  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, bringing  in  the  principal  personages  of  an- 
tiquity to  converse  on  such  themes  as  would  in- 
struct in  regard  to  history  and  morals.  And  all  this 
was  but  a  preparation  for  "Telemaque,"  or  Tele- 
machus,  composed  for  the  instruction  of  the  heir 
to  the  throne,  and  endowed  with  such  unfailing 
charm  by  the  beauty  of  its  style  and  the  admirable 
nature  of  its  sentences,  that  it  has  been  read  ever 
since  in  many  nations  and  by  many  classes.  The 
same  mythology  is  employed  in  it  that  was  used  by 
Homer  and  Virgil,  but  refined  by  the  knowledge  of 
the  Divine  revelation  and  adorned  by  a  tincture  of 
Christianity  that  runs  easily  through  the  whole  nar- 
rative. The  best  classical  and  moral  maxims  are 
placed  before  the  mind  of  the  reader,  animated  with 
love  and  heightened  with  action.  The  author  shows 
that  the  glory  of  a  prince  is  to  govern  men  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  them  good  and  happy;  that  his 
authority  is  never  so  firmly  established  as  in  the  love 
of  his  people ;  that  the  true  riches  and  prosperity  of 
a  State  consists  in  taking  away  what  ministers  to 
general  luxury,  and  in  being  content  with  innocent 
and  simple  pleasures. 

But,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  it  was  not  the  in- 


8o  Fenelon:  Th^  Mystic 

tellectual  means  alone — the  text-books  that  were 
prepared,  the  treatises  that  were  written,  the  pains 
taken  with  instruction — which  most  awaken  our  ad- 
miration, but  rather  the  good  sense  shown  in  the 
various  special  expedients  that  were  employed  as 
from  time  to  time  they  were  found  adapted  to  the 
needs  of  the  case.  Every  effort  was  made  to  re- 
lieve study  from  tedium.  Lessons  were  abandoned 
whenever  the  prince  wished  to  begin  a  conversa- 
tion from  which  he  might  derive  useful  informa- 
tion. There  were  frequent  intervals  for  exercise. 
Learning  was  turned  into  a  pleasure.  The  real 
struggle  was  with  his  fiery  temperament,  which  had 
been  hitherto  so  badly  mismanaged,  and  which  could 
only  be  met  by  patience  and  gentleness  with  firm- 
ness. When  one  of  the  evil  moods  seized  him,  it 
was  an  understood  thing  in  the  household  that  every 
one  should  relapse  into  an  unwonted  silence.  No- 
body spoke  to  him  if  they  could  help  it ;  his  attend- 
ants waited  upon  him  with  averted  eyes  as  though 
reluctant  to  witness  his  degradation  through  pas- 
sion. He  was  treated  with  the  sort  of  humiliating 
compassion  which  might  be  shown  to  a  madman; 
his  books  and  appliances  for  study  were  put  aside 
as  useless  to  one  in  such  a  state,  and  he  was  left 
to  his  own  reflections.  Such  a  course  was  the  de- 
struction of  self-complacency ;  he  ceased  to  find  re- 
lief in  swearing  when  his  hearers  ceased  to  be  dis- 
concerted by  his  abuse,  and,  being  left  to  consider 
the  situation  in  solitude,  he  saw  himself  for  the  first 
time  as  others  saw  him.     Gradually  this  treatment 


Preceptor  to  the  Prince.  8i 

would  bring  the  passionate  but  generous  child  to  a 
better  mind,  and  then,  full  of  remorse  and  penitence, 
he  would  come  to  throw  himself  with  the  fullest  af- 
fection and  trust  upon  the  never-failing  patience 
and  goodness  of  the  preceptor,  whom  he  almost 
worshiped  to  his  dying  day. 

Fenelon  had  studied  childhood,  and  knew  how 
deeply  rooted  is  the  child's  fear  of  ridicule ;  in  the 
prince  it  was  exaggerated  by  his  abnormal  vanity, 
and  a  system  which  showed  him  how  he  degraded 
himself,  and  lost  all  shadow  of  dignity  when  he  lost 
his  self-control,  was  the  surest  to  produce  a  radical 
reform.  There  are  still  in  existence  two  pledges  of 
his  childish  repentance,  testifying  to  the  difficulty 
with  which  his  faults  were  conquered.  "I  promise, 
on  my  word  as  a  prince  to  M.  I'Abbe  de  Fenelon, 
that  I  will  do  at  once  whatever  he  bids  me,  and 
will  obey  him  instantly  in  what  he  forbids ;  and  if 
I  break  my  word  I  will  accept  any  kind  of  punish- 
ment and  disgrace.  Given  at  Versailles,  November 
29,  1689.  Louis."  This  promise,  in  spite  of  the 
word  of  a  prince,  was  probably  broken;  for  many 
months  later  he  enters  on  another  engagement 
pathetic  in  its  brevity :  "Louis,  who  promises  afresh 
to  keep  his  promise  better.  This  20th  of  Septem- 
ber, I  beseech  M.  de  Fenelon  to  take  it  again." 
He  was  at  this  time  but  eight  years  old.  The  child 
loved  his  teacher  passionately,  and  it  was  seldom 
that  he  did  not  yield  speedily  to  Fenelon's  wise  and 
loving  discipline. 
6 


82  FeneiwOn:  The  Mystic 

Once,  however,  there  was  a  serious  scene  be- 
tween them  which  appears  to  have  had  a  lasting  in- 
fluence upon  the  prince.  Fenelon  had  been  obUged 
to  reprove  him  with  more  than  usual  severity,  and 
the  boy,  in  his  angry  pride,  had  resisted,  exclaim- 
ing, "No,  no,  sir;  I  remember  who  I  am,  and  who 
you  are."  It  was  impossible  to  pass  over  such  a 
speech  and  maintain  authority;  but  acting  upon 
his  own  maxim,  never  to  administer  reproof  while 
either  actor  concerned  is  excited,  Fenelon  made  no 
reply,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  preserved 
a  total  silence  toward  his  pupil,  who  could  not  fail 
to  perceive  by  his  manner  that  the  usually  indulgent 
master  was  much  displeased.  Night  came  with  no 
explanation.  But  the  next  morning,  as  soon  as  the 
prince  was  awake,  the  abbe  came  into  his  room, 
and,  addressing  him  in  a  grave,  ceremonious  man- 
ner, very  unlike  the  usual  easy  tone  of  their  inter- 
course, said:  "I  do  not  know.  Monsieur,  whether 
you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  yesterday,  that 
you  knew  what  you  are  and  what  I  am ;  but  it  is  my 
duty  to  teach  you  your  ignorance  alike  of  both. 
You  fancy  yourself  a  greater  personage  than  I — 
some  of  your  servants  may  have  told  you  so;  but 
since  you  oblige  me  to  do  it  I  must  tell  you  without 
hesitation  that  I  am  greater  than  you.  You  must 
see  at  once  that  there  can  be  no  question  of  birth 
in  the  matter.  It  is  one  of  personal  merit.  You 
can  have  no  doubt  that  I  am  your  superior  in  un- 
derstanding and  knowledge ;  you  know  nothing  but 


Preceptor  to  th^  Prince  83 

what  I  have  taught  you,  and  that  is  a  mere  shadow 
compared  with  what  you  have  yet  to  learn.  As  to 
authority,  you  have  none  over  me,  whereas  I,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  full  and  entire  authority  over 
you,  as  the  king  has  often  told  you.  Perhaps  you 
imagine  that  I  think  myself  fortunate  in  holding  the 
office  I  fill  about  yourself;  but  there  again  you  are 
mistaken.  I  undertook  it  only  to  obey  the  king, 
and  in  no  way  for  the  irksome  privilege  of  being 
your  preceptor.  And  to  convince  you  of  this  truth 
I  am  now  going  to  take  you  to  His  Majesty  and 
beg  of  him  to  appoint  some  one  else  whose  care  of 
you  will,  I  hope,  be  more  successful  than  mine." 
This  was  no  idle  threat;  for  Fenelon  had  always 
been  determined  to  resign  the  tutorship  as  soon  as 
he  felt  himself  to  be  failing  in  it ;  and  the  prince  was 
obliged  to  weigh  his  pride  against  his  love.  His 
love  proved  the  greater ;  for  life  had  been  very  dif- 
ferent with  him  since  Fenelon  came  into  it,  and  no 
sacrifice  of  his  vanity  was  too  galling  if  he  might 
cancel  his  offense  and  keep  his  friend.  Moreover, 
he  was  sensitive  to  the  last  degree  to  public  opinion 
and  the  faintest  shadow  of  disgrace.  What  wouM 
the  world  think  of  a  prince  who  was  so  hopelessly 
naughty  that  a  man  so  universally  admired  and  re- 
spected was  forced  to  give  him  up,  and  what  would 
become  of  the  poor  little  boy  to  whom  his  nearest 
relatives  were,  after  all,  only  "His  Majesty"  and 
"Monseigneur,"  if  the  dear,  kind  preceptor,  who 
loved  him  and  devoted  himself  so  entirely  to  him, 


84  Fenelon:  Th^  Mystic 

were  to  go  away  ?  Poor  Louis !  The  storm  broke 
out  anew;  but  this  time  it  was  of  penitence  and 
shame  and  regret,  while  with  passionate  sobs  and 
tears  he  cried  out :  "O  Monsieur,  I  am  so  sorry  for 
what  I  did  yesterday.  If  you  tell  the  king  he  will 
not  care  for  me  any  more;  and  what  will  people 
think  if  you  leave  me?  I  promise,  O  I  promise 
ever  so  much,  that  you  shall  not  have  to  complain 
of  me  if  only  you  will  promise  not  to  go."  But 
F.enelon  would  promise  nothing — ^the  lesson  would 
be  lost  if  it  were  not  sharp — and  for  a  whole  day 
he  allowed  the  duke  to  undergo  the  pangs  of  anx- 
iety and  uncertainty.  But  at  last,  when  his  re- 
pentance seemed  unlikely  to  be  soon  forgotten, 
Madame  de  Maintenon's  in|;ercession  was  admitted, 
and  the  preceptor  consented  to  remain. 

At  a  much  later  date  Fenelon,  writing  about 
these  days  to  a  friend,  said  of  the  prince:  "He 
was  sincere  and  ingenuous  to  a  degree  that  one  only 
needed  to  question  him  in  order  to  know  whatever 
he  had  done  wrong.  One  day,  when  he  was  very 
much  out  of  temper,  he  tried  to  conceal  some  act 
of  disobedience,  and  I  urged  him  to  tell  the  truth, 
remembering  that  we  were  in  God's  sight.  Then 
he  threw  himself  into  a  great  passion,  and  said, 
'Why  do  you  put  it  in  that  way  ?  Well,  then,  since 
you  ask  it  so,  I  can  not  deny  that  I  did  that,'  what- 
ever it  was.  He  was  beside  himself  with  anger,  but 
still  his  sense  of  religious  duty  was  so  strong  that  it 
drew  forth  the  most  humiliating  acknowledgments. 


Prbcbptor  to  the  Prince.  85 

I  never  corrected  him  save  where  it  was  really 
necessary,  and  then  with  great  caution.  The  mo- 
ment his  passion  was  over  he  would  come  back  to 
me,  and  confess  himself  to  blame,  so  that  we  had 
to  console  him ;  and  he  was  really  grateful  to  those 
who  corrected  him.  He  used  sometimes  to  say  to 
me,  'Now  I  shall  leave  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  be- 
hind the  door,  and  be  only  little  Louis  with  you.' 
This  was  when  he  was  nine  years  old.  Directly  he 
saw  me  doing  any  work  for  him  he  wanted  to  do 
the  same,  and  would  set  to  on  his  own  account.  Ex- 
cept in  his  moments  of  passion  I  never  knew  him  in- 
fluenced save  by  the  most  straightforward  princi- 
ples and  most  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Gospel.  He  was  kind  and  gracious  to 
all  who  had  a  claim  upon  him ;  but  he  reserved  his 
confidence  wholly  for  such  as  he  believed  to  be  re- 
ligious people,  and  they  could  tell  him  nothing  about 
his  faults  which  he  did  not  acknowledge  with  grati- 
tude. I  never  saw  any  one  whom  I  should  less  have 
feared  to  displease  by  telling  him  the  harshest  truths 
concerning  himself.  I  have  proved  that  by  some 
wonderful  experiences." 

It  will  be  somewhat  seen,  we  trust,  from  all  this, 
how  great  was  the  care  and  skill  expended  by  Fene- 
lon  on  his"  most  responsible  and  difficult  task,  and 
how  near  an  approach  he  made  to  imparting  a  model 
education  to  his  pupil.  To  his  religious  training, 
of  course,  as  well  as  to  that  which  was  more  intel- 
lectual, the  greatest  attention  was  given.    It  had  a 


86  Fenelon:  Thr  Mystic. 

large  place  in  the  many  conversations  held  and  the 
many  books  put  into  his  hands,  chief  among  which 
were  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  The  law  of  self-de- 
nial and  self-restraint  was  continually  inculcated, 
that  one  must  learn  to  imitate  the  Divine  Master  if 
one  would  fulfill  the  purpose  for  which  life  was 
given.  The  early  religious  impressions  thus  im- 
parted were  so  deeply  wrought  that  they  influenced 
his  whole  after  life.  He  was  prepared  with  greatest 
care  for  his  first  communion,  taking  it  earnestly  and 
devoutly,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  was  a  regu- 
lar and  faithful  communicant,  receiving  the  sacra- 
ment with  a  recollection  and  humility  of  bearing 
which  struck  all  beholders.  A  total  transformation 
was  wrought  in  the  royal  pupil  under  the  training 
given,  a  transformation  which  amazed  all  who  were 
conversant  with  it.  The  Duke  de  Saint-Simon, 
speaking  of  what  a  prodigy  was  wrought  in  a  mar- 
velously  short  space  of  time,  how  the  most  terrible 
qualities  were  changed  into  all  the  opposite  virtues, 
says :  "From  the  beast  which  I  have  described  there 
arose  a  prince  affable,  gentle,  moderate,  patient, 
modest,  humble,  austere  but  only  to  himself,  at- 
tentive to  his  duties  and  sensible  of  their  great  ex- 
tent. His  only  object  appeared  to  be  to  perform 
all  his  actual  duties  as  son  and  subject,  and  to  qual- 
ify himself  for  his  future  obligations."  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  in  one  of  her  letters,  gives  the  same 
testimony :  "We  saw  all  those  defects  which  alarmed 
us  so  much  in  the  youth  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 


Preceptor  to  the  Prince.  87 

gradually  disappear.  Every  year  produced  in  him 
a  visible  increase  of  virtue.  So  much  had  his  piety 
changed  him  that,  from  being  the  most  passionate 
of  men,  he  became  mild,  gentle,  and  complying; 
persons  would  have  thought  that  mildness  was  his 
natural  disposition,  and  that  he  was  innately  good." 
So  great  was  the  alteration  in  his  character  and  con- 
duct that,  had  he  lived  to  ascend  the  throne,  the 
whole  world,  as  well  as  France  in  particular,  would 
have  been  immensely  the  gainer.  Hence  the  limit- 
less devotion  with  which  Fenelon  gave  five  or  six 
3'ears  of  his  life  at  the  height  of  his  powers  en- 
tirely to  the  royal  children  and  the  routine  of  their 
schoolroom  duties,  was  by  no  means  a  poor  use  of 
his  great  gifts  and  attainments.  These  years  are 
extremely  important,  both  in  his  own  history  and 
the  history  of  his  country. 

One  other  point  deserves  mention  before  we 
pass  from  this  interesting  period  of  Fenelon's  life. 
In  entering  on  his  office  he  laid  down  to  himself  a 
rule,  to  which  he  rigidly  adhered,  never  to  ask  of 
the  court  a  favor  for  himself,  his  friends,  or  his 
family.  The  virtue  of  this  stands  out  the  more 
when  we  consider  how  very  rare  in  those  days  was 
disinterestedness,  and  that  men  were  none  the  less 
esteemed  because  they  strove  to  profit  themselves 
and  their  families  to  the  utmost  in  whatever  posi- 
tion they  filled.  It  is,  then,  not  a  little  remarkable 
and  creditable  that  Fenelon  actually  continued  in  a 
state   closely   approaching   destitution;   his   means 


88  Feneu)n:  Thb  Mystic 

were  extremely  straitened  for  more  than  five  years 
after  entering  upon  his  honorable  and  responsible 
position  at  court.  His  private  revenue  was  very 
small,  nothing  at  all  coming  to  him  at  this  time 
from  Carenac,  which  he  describes  as  "hopelessly 
ruined."  No  pecuniary  income,  one  writer  says, 
was  attached  to  his  office ;  but  this  is  hardly  credi- 
ble, and  there  are  indications  that  there  was  a  sal- 
ary, although,  strangely  enough,  not  an  adequate 
one.  He  kept  a  very  small  establishment,  and  it 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  he  found  means  to 
meet  his  current  expenses.  Letters  to  Madame  de 
Laval,  a  daughter  of  his  uncle,  the  marquis,  and 
hence  a  sister  to  him,  who  was  his  guide  and  coun- 
selor in  money  matters,  show  this.  He  wrote  to 
her,  October,  1689,  concerning  the  various  econo- 
mies to  which  he  was  subjected,  and  the  sale  of  his 
carriage  and  ponies.  Again,  in  March,  1691,  he 
mentions  having  repaid  one  thousand  francs  out 
of  a  debt  of  twelve  hundred  due  Madame  de  Laval, 
and  other  sums  to  other  people.  "I  have  made  re- 
trenchments," he  says,  "which  are  very  unusual  in 
my  position;  but  justice  comes  before  all  other  con- 
siderations. I  still  owe  a  considerable  sum  to  my 
bookseller,  and  I  must  buy  some  plate  to  repay  you 
for  the  things  you  have  loaned  me  which  are  worn 
out."  He  speaks  of  getting  his  accounts  into  order 
that  he  may  see  his  way  in  his  small  economies  and 
calculate  how  to  go  on.  Again,  in  January,  1694, 
he  writes  concerning  a  needy  person  whom  he  com- 


Preceptor  to  th^  Prince.  89 

mends  to  Madame  de  Laval,  saying:  "Although 
my  necessities  have  never  been  so  pressing  as  at 
present,  I  beg  you  to  take  what  is  wanted  for  this 
man.  I  am  tolerably  well,  though  very  busy;  but 
my  purse  is  at  the  lowest  ebb,  through  delays  in 
the  payment  of  my  salary,  and  the  exceeding  dear- 
ness  of  everything  this  year.  If  I  do  not  receive 
something  shortly,  I  must  dismiss  nearly  all  my 
servants.  But  I  will  not  have  you  try  to  help  me. 
I  would  rather  bear  on.  All  the  same,  see  that  any 
money  that  can  be  sent  [from  Carenac]  reaches  me 
after  the  more  urgent  alms  have  been  disbursed; 
for  indeed  I  would  rather  live  on  dry  bread  than 
let  any  of  the  poor  of  my  benefice  want." 

This  cousin  became  Fenelon's  sister  actually,  as 
well  as  in  name,  by  her  second  marriage  with  his 
eldest  brother,  the  Compte  de  Fenelon;  and  prob- 
ably it  never  cost  him  more  to  refuse  anything  than 
when  he  refused  her  request  that  he  would  obtain  a 
valuable  military  post  for  her  son,  a  child  four  years 
old.  But,  while  eager  to  do  anything  he  deemed 
right  to  please  her,  he  steadily  refused  to  make  the 
application  she  desired.  He  writes:  "I  can  not 
relax  the  strict  rule  to  which  I  feel  it  right  in  my 
position  to  adhere.  I  would  do  anything  on  earth 
for  you  or  your  son  that  I  can,  but  not  to  save  my 
life  would  I  ask  for  anything  from  the  king."  Other 
letters  that  might  be  quoted  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage. It  was  not  till  1694  that  the  king  seems  to 
have    remembered  or  discovered    how  badly    his 


90  Feneu>n:  The  Mystic. 

grandsons'  preceptor  was  provided  for.  In  that 
year,  at  last,  he  gave  Fenelon  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Valery,  which  sufficiently  filled  his  purse.  The 
king  informed  him  of  this  in  person,  and  apologized 
for  so  tardy  an  acknowledgment  of  his  gratitude. 
And  the  year  before,  1693,  he  was  chosen  a  mem- 
ber of  the  French  Academy,  a  high  distinction ;  his 
reception  speech  was  made  March  31st  of  that  year. 
It  was  at  this  time,  also,  that  he  became  a  con- 
siderable factor  in  the  management  of  the  celebrated 
community  at  St.  Cyr,  known  as  the  ladies  of  St. 
Louis,  who  were  pledged  to  a  devout  and  holy  life. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  had  originated  the  idea  of 
this  foundation,  with  the  special  object  of  educat- 
ing and  training  five  hundred  girls,  daughters  of 
the  poorer  nobility.  It  occupied  a  large  share  of 
her  thoughts.  Fenelon  was  associated  with  Bourda- 
loue,  the  Abbe  Godet  des  Marais,  subsequently 
Bishop  of  Chartres,  and  other  eminent  ecclesiastics 
in  its  government. 

It  was  on  February  4,  1695,  that  the  king  an- 
nounced to  Abbe  de  Fenelon  that  he  had  nomi- 
nated him  Archbishop  of  Cambrai,  one  of  the  rich- 
est and  most  important  sees  in  the  kingdom.  He 
was  taken  entirely  by  surprise,  but  at  once  replied, 
after  expressing  his  thanks,  that  he  could  scarcely 
rejoice  in  an  appointment  that  would  remove  him 
from  the  preceptorship  to  the  princes.  Whereupon 
Louis  graciously  answered  that  the  abbe  was  much 
too  useful  to  be  spared,  and  that  his  intention  was 


Preceptor  to  the  Prince.  91 

that  he  should  retain  both  offices.  Fenelon  repre- 
sented that  the  laws  of  the  Church  and  his  own 
conscience  made  this  impossible,  as  both  required 
residence  in  the  diocese.  But  the  king  bore  wit- 
ness to  his  appreciation  of  Fenelon's  services  by 
overruling  this  difficulty,  and  replying,  "No,  no; 
the  canons  only  require  nine  months'  residence; 
you  will  spend  three  months  with  my  grandsons, 
and  during  the  rest  of  the  year  you  must  superin- 
tend their  education  from  Cambrai  just  as  you 
would  at  Versailles."  This  point  settled,  Fenelon 
went  on  to  say  that  if  he  was  indeed  to  accept  the 
archbishopric  he  must  resign  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Valery,  an  act  of  disinterestedness  which  Louis  al- 
together refused  to  allow.  But  Fenelon  quietly 
persisted,  pointing  out  to  the  king  that  the  revenues 
of  Cambrai  were  such  as  to  make  it  an  infringe- 
ment of  canonical  law  to  hold  any  other  preferment 
with  it.  Such  conscientious  indifference  to  his  own 
interest  excited  a  great  deal  of  astonishment  and 
gossip  at  court.  The  Bishop  of  Rheims  remarked 
that  it  was  all  very  well  for  M.  de  Fenelon,  think- 
ing as  he  did,  to  act  thus,  but  that  thinking  as  he 
did,  it  was  better  for  him  to  keep  his  revenues.  The 
age  was  thoroughly  accustomed  to  this  plurality  of 
benefices.  In  the  previous  century  John  of  Lor- 
raine was  at  one  and  the  same  time  Archbishop  of 
Lyons,  Rheims,  and  Narbonne,  Bishop  of  Metz» 
Toul,  Verdun,  Theroneune,  Lucon,  Alby,  and 
Valence,  and  Abbot  of  Gortz,  Fecamp,  Clugny,  and 


92  F£nei,on:  Th:^  Mystic. 

Marmontier.  He  was  also  made  a  cardinal  a  year 
or  two  before  attaining  his  majority.  This  was 
doubtless  an  extreme  case,  but  there  were  plenty 
somewhat  similar.  So  that  Fenelon's  self-denying 
course  meant  a  good  deal  more  than  it  would  at 
the  present  day. 

He  was  consecrated  archbishop  June  lo,  1695,  in 
the  chapel  of  St.  Cyr,  in  the  presence  of  a  distin- 
guished throng,  among  whom  were  Madame  de 
Maintenon  and  his  three  royal  pupils.  Bossuet  was 
chief  consecrator,  the  Bishop  of  Chalons  being  first 
assistant,  and  the  Bishop  of  Amiens  second.  Fene- 
lon's friends  were  delighted  at  this  great  advance- 
ment for  him ;  yet  it  was  felt  by  many  of  them  that 
he  should  have  had  the  Archbishopric  of  Paris,  for 
already  the  popular  voice  had  widely  and  loudly 
nominated  him.  Some  thought  that  he  was  sent  to 
Cambrai  by  the  king  for  the  express  purpose  of 
forestalling  this  clamor,  and  avoiding  any  neces- 
sity for  putting  him  in  the  more  conspicuous  and 
influential  place ;  for  it  was  known  that  the  post  at 
Paris  would  soon  be  vacant,  and,  if,  at  its  vacancy, 
Fenelon  had  been  still  unplaced,  the  pressure  for 
his  appointment  there  would  have  been  very  strong. 
As  it  was,  M.  de  Harlai  died  August  6,  1695,  less 
than  two  months  after  Fenelon's  consecration.  M. 
de  Noailles,  Bishop  of  Chalons,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  was  given  the 
position. 

We  have  reached  now  what  was,  in  a  worldly 


PRECi^PTOR  to  TH^  Prince.  93 

point  of  view,  the  very  summit  of  Fenelon  s  pros- 
perity and  glory.  It  might  seem  that,  humanly 
speaking,  he  had  very  little,  if  anything,  left  to  wish 
for,  although,  of  course,  the  cardinalate  might  fairly 
have  been  expected  in  a  few  years.  But  the  clouds 
were  already  beginning  to  gather  which  were  soon 
to  break  over  his  head  in  a  storm  never  to  clear 
away,  so  far  as  court  favor  and  the  good  things  of 
this  world  were  concerned.  So  a  new  chapter  must 
be  devoted  to  these  new  experiences  which  had  so 
very  much  to  do  both  with  his  temporal  and  spirit- 
ual affairs. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MYSTICISM  AND  QUIETISM.^ 

In  order  that  we  may  properly  apprehend  the 
next  period  in  Fenelon's  life  it  is  absolutely  essen- 
tial for  us  to  take  a  survey  of  the  general  subject  of 
Mysticism,  for  with  that  he  became  now  very  inti- 
mately concerned.  And,  happily,  it  is  a  subject  of 
perennial  importance,  having  no  less  close  connec- 
tion with  the  present  day  than  with  the  centuries 
past.  Indeed  the  present  age  has  in  some  respects 
very  special  need  of  just  this  element.  It  is  a  com- 
mercial, materialistic,  money-grabbing  age,  devoted 
to  the  outward  and  the  practical ;  it  is  a  time  when 
the  triumphs  of  machinery  and  invention  and  in- 
dustrial progress  are  sounded  as  never  before — an 
extremely  busy,  bustling  time  of  immense  external 
activity,  when  man  hastens  to  get  rich  and  rushes 

IThe  principal  sources  of  information  on  this  important  sub- 
ject of  Mysticism,  from  which  we  have  drawn  and  to  which  we 
would  refer  such  readers  as  wish  to  investigate  the  question  further, 
are  the  following:  "Christian  Mysticism,"  by  William  Ralph  Inge, 
being  the  Hampton  Lectures  for  1899;  Vaughan's  "Hours  With  the 
Mystics;''  articles  in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica;  Schaff-Herzog 
Cycloi)edia ;  McClintock  and  Strong's  Cyclojjedia ;  articles  in  the 
Methodist  Quarterly  Review  for  January,  i860,  January,  1869,  and 
July,  1878;  various  Church  Histories,  and  Histories  of  Doctrine, 
together  with  the  Lives  and  Writings  of  the  main  Mystics  men- 
tioned in  the  present  chapter  and  the  chapter  which  follows. 

94 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  95 

through  life  at  railroad  speed,  scarcely  finding  lei- 
sure so  much  as  to  eat,  much  less  for  the  quiet  con- 
templation of  the  things  of  the  spirit.  And  it  is 
the  contemplative,  interior,  spirit-filled  life  with 
which  Mysticism  has  pre-eminently  to  do. 

The  term,  it  is  true,  has  come  to  be  widely  re- 
garded with  suspicion,  and  used,  more  or  less 
vaguely,  as  a  word  of  reproach.  With  many,  per- 
haps with  most,  it  carries  an  unpleasant,  offensive 
suggestion.  Its  associations  in  their  minds  are  with 
that  which  is  misty  or  recondite,  visionary  and  un- 
intelligible;  also  with  that  which  is  fanatical,  ex- 
travagant, unreasonable,  and  somewhat  dangerous. 
That  there  is  some  ground  for  this  impression  can 
not  be  denied,  because  under  the  general  name  of 
Mysticism  much  has  been  included,  in  the  long  sweep 
of  the  centuries,  which  can  not  be  admired  or  de- 
fended; much  which  does  not  commend  itself  to 
that  level-headed  common  sense  according  to  whose 
dictates  we  like  to  think  that  our  religion  can  be 
and  should  be  squared.  But  we  are  persuaded  that 
this  extreme  objectionable  development,  or  mani- 
festation, of  the  Mystic  spirit  has  been  much  less 
frequent  than  is  commonly  supposed,  and  has  no 
sufficient  claim  to  be  identified  with  it  in  the  public 
mind  anywhere  near  as  largely  as  it  usually  is. 
There  is  a  true  Mysticism,  and  a  false  Mysticism. 
There  are  Mystics  every  way  worthy  of  highest 
honor,  and  there  are  those  not  at  all  points  deserv- 
ing imitation.    It  surely  is  a  mistake  to  lay  the  chief 


96  Fen^i^on:  Th^  Mystic. 

stress  on  the  latter,  as  is  so  frequently  done,  and 
thus  to  stamp  a  stigma  upon  all.  Christian  Mys- 
ticism is  something  of  which  no  one  can  afford  to 
be  ignorant.  The  Church  which  neglects  it  or  de- 
spises it,  whether  through  misapprehension  or  some 
less  honorable  cause,  is  certain  to  be  a  large  loser. 

What  is  Mysticism?  As  has  been  pointed  out 
by  several,  it  is  something  which  from  its  very  na- 
ture is  hardly  susceptible  of  exact  definition,  does 
not  readily  lend  itself  to  the  most  precise  forms  of 
language.  It  is  a  phase  of  thought  or  feeling  which 
continually  appears  in  connection  with  the  endeavor 
of  the  human  mind  to  grasp  the  Divine  essence, 
and  to  enjoy  the  blessedness  of  actual  communion 
with  the  Highest.  It  springs  inevitably  from  in- 
tense desire  for  intimate  fellowship  with  God,  from 
the  hottest  possible  pursuit  of  the  highest  ideals. 
It  is  a  sort  of  name  for  the  realization  of  God  as 
transfused  throughout  the  universe,  as  being  imma- 
nent in  material  things  and  in  mankind  alike.  The 
Century  Dictionary  defines  Mysticism  as  "any  mode 
of  thought  or  phase  of  intellectual  or  religious  life 
in  which  reliance  is  placed  upon  a  spiritual  illumina- 
tion believed  to  transcend  the  ordinary  powers  of 
understanding."  The  Standard  Dictionary  says 
that  Mysticism  is  "the  doctrine  and  belief  that  man 
may  attain  to  an  immediate  direct  consciousness  or 
knowledge  of  God  as  the  real  and  absolute  principle 
of  all  truth.  The  term  is  applied  to  a  system  of 
thought  and  life  of  which  the  chief  feature  is  an 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  97 

extreme  development  of  meditative  and  intuitive 
methods  as  distinguished  from  the  definitive  ajid 
scholastic."  Similarly  Dr.  J.  P.  Lange,  in  the 
Schaff-Herzog  Cyclopedia,  says:  "Mysticism  has 
been  defined  as  belief  in  an  immediate  and  contin- 
uous communication  between  God  and  the  soul 
which  may  be  established  by  certain  peculiar  re- 
ligious exercises.  .  .  .  There  is  a  mystic  ele- 
ment in  all  true  religion."  Cousin  says:  "Mys- 
ticism is  the  belief  that  God  may  be  known  face  to 
face  without  anything  intermediate.  It  is  a  yield- 
ing to  the  sentiment  awakened  by  the  Infinite,  and 
a  summing  up  of  all  knowledge  and  all  duty  in  the 
"Contemplation  and  love  of  Him."  Nitzsch,  in  his 
"System  of  Christian  Doctrine,"  declares  "that  the 
religious  man,  the  man  of  faith,  is,  as  such,  a  Mys- 
tic; for  he  in  whose  consciousness  God  does  not 
appear,  certainly  does  not  feel  God,  nor  can  he 
know  or  honor  Him ;  but  he  who  only  thinks  Him, 
without  loving  Him  and  becoming  pure  in  heart, 
can  not  know  Him  vitally ;  much  less  can  he  behold 
Him  spiritually  who  desires  to  see  Him  with  the 
outward  sense.  The  inner  life  of  religion  is  ever 
Mysticism." 

This  is  why  in  all  ages  of  the  Church,  when  the 
outward  has  come  to  usurp  and  absorb  attention, 
when  formalism  and  ceremonialism  have  domi- 
nated the  mind,  when  scholasticism  has  gained  as- 
cendency, and  especially  when  a  corrupt  looseness 
of  morals  has  set  in  to  degrade  the  very  ideals  of 

7 


98  Fen^lon:  Th^  Mystic. 

humanity,  there  have  been  those  who  have  arisen 
to  make  a  stand  for  a  purer,  more  fervent,  more 
spiritual  type  of  piety.  They  have  met,  of  course, 
with  bitter  opposition ;  they  have  troubled  those  who 
did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  in  their  carnal  indul- 
gences or  worldly  conformities,  and  they  have  had 
various  uncomplimentary  epithets  thrown  at  them ; 
such  as.  Pietists,  Quietists,  Mystics,  Puritans, 
Quakers,  and  Methodists.  They  have  been  mis- 
represented in  manifold  ways.  They  have  been  per- 
secuted even  unto  the  death.  But  they  have  been 
the  salt  of  the  earth,  and  the  succession  has  been 
kept  up  under  one  name  or  another  from  the  ear- 
liest days  to  the  present.  They  have  not  always 
been  endowed  with  philosophic  minds  or  skilled  in 
the  learning  of  the  schools.  They  have  been  keenly 
conscious  of  the  difficulty,  the  impossibility,  of  com- 
pletely expressing,  in  imperfect  human  words,  the 
deep  things  of  God  revealed  to  them  on  the  mounts 
of  vision  with  which  they  have  been  favored.  They 
have  struggled  hard  with  the  inadequacy  of  the  only 
language  at  their  command,  and  have  been  driven 
to  a  liberal  use  of  figures  of  speech,  some  of  them 
questionable  in  point  of  propriety.  They  have  had 
a  cramped  vocabulary,  have  made  mistakes,  have 
not  found  themselves  able  to  translate  into  intelligi- 
ble terms  all  that  was  in  their  minds.  To  mint  the 
secrets  of  the  interior  life  into  the  current  coin  of 
language  suited  to  the  comprehension  of  common 
souls  requires  a  skill  given  to  but  few.  And  more  es- 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  99 

pecially  have  their  expressions  been  found  unintelli- 
gible, or  worse,  by  adversaries  not  qualified  by  any 
experience  to  comprehend  what  it  was  all  about. 
For,  as  St.  Paul  says  (i  Cor.  ii) :  "The  natural 
man  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God ; 
for  they  are  foolishness  unto  him,  and  he  can  not 
know  them,  because  they  are  spiritually  judged. 
We  speak  wisdom  among  the  perfect,  God's  wis- 
dom in  a  mystery,  even  a  wisdom  which  hath  been 
hidden,  which  none  of  the  rulers  of  this  world 
knoweth.  Which  things  also  we  speak,  not  in 
words  which  man's  wisdom  teacheth,  but  which  the 
Spirit  teacheth,  interpreting  spiritual  things  to  spir- 
itual men."  The  adversaries  were  also  eager  in 
many  cases  to  remove  out  of  the  way  those  who, 
by  their  purity  of  life  and  their  opposition  to 
priestly  claims  and  gains,  were  esteemed  danger- 
ous to  the  peace  of  the  Church.  We  are  confident 
that  in  the  main  this  is  a  fair  interpretation  of  the 
course  which  events  have  taken.  Not  but  what 
some  of  the  Mystics  have  really  laid  themselves 
open  to  the  complaints  of  their  enemies.  They 
have  been  unguarded  in  their  language,  have  been 
so  carried  away  with  ecstasy,  as  some  new  precious 
truth  has  burst  upon  them,  that  they  have  stated  it 
too  strongly;  have  not  supplied  the  limitations  and 
modifications  and  exceptions  which  would  have 
been  well,  which  were  necessary  for  a  complete 
rounding  out  of  the  statement;  have  taken  for 
granted  that  the  other  side  had  been  sufficiently  em- 


loo  Fen^lon:  Tut  Mystic 

phasized  before,  and  that  their  special  mission  to 
emphasize  the  neglected  point  would  be  recognized ; 
hence  they  have  said  things  which,  by  strict  con- 
struction and  taken  in  bald  literalness,  were  not  pre- 
cisely true.  All  this  can  be  granted  without  casting 
any  serious  reflection  either  on  their  character  or 
their  doctrines.  Their  books  must  be  read  with  cau- 
tion and  discrimination.  To  persons  not  well  bal- 
anced they  might  sometimes  be  a  source  of  peril. 
But  this  admission  is  in  no  way  incompatible  with 
the  assertion  that  they  have  conferred  a  very  great 
benefit  upon  mankind,  that  their  doctrines,  on  the 
whole,  are  sound,  and  that  this  generation  could  ill 
afford  to  overlook  the  good  to  be  obtained  by  care- 
ful studies  in  this  direction. 

The  first  Mystics  were  really  St.  John  and  St. 
Paul ;  and  their  words  have  full  justification  in  what 
they  derived  from  their  Divine  Master.  Who  more 
positively  than  the  great  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles, 
"according  to  the  wisdom  given  unto  him,"  preached 
a  gospel  that  was  foolishness  to  some,  but  which  he 
continually  called  the  wisdom  and  the  mystery  of 
God ;  a  gospel  which  proclaims  the  Divine  indwell- 
ing, we  in  Him  and  He  in  us,  our  bodies  the  tem- 
ples of  the  Holy  Ghost,  believers  being  "in  Christ'' 
and  "members  one  of  another?"  He  was  a  man 
caught  up  into  Paradise,  and  hearing  unspeakable 
words  which  it  was  not  lawful  or  possible  for  a 
man  to  utter.  "I  die  daily/'  he  said,  "I  have  been 
crucified  with  Christ,  and  it  is  no  longer  I  that  live, 


Mysticism  and  Quii^tism.  ioi 

but  Christ  liveth  in  me ;"  "To  me  to  live  is  Christ ;" 
"I  have  learned  the  secret,  I  can  do  all  things  in 
Him;"  "I  fill  up  on  my  part  that  which  is  lacking 
of  the  afflictions  of  Christ;"  "Ye  died,  and  your 
life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God;"  "In  Him  we  live, 
and  move,  and  have  our  being;"  "The  Spirit  Him- 
self beareth  witness  with  our  spirit," — and  many 
other  such  like  things  there  be,  left  on  record  from 
his  pen  to  show  clearly  that  he  was  a  true  Mystic. 
Still  more,  perhaps,  do  the  Mystics  look  to  St.  John 
for  complete  authorization  of  their  position.  His 
Gospel  is  the  spiritual  Gospel,  the  charter  of  Chris- 
tian Mysticism.  It  is  he  who  tells  us,  "God  is  love," 
"God  is  light,"  "God  is  Spirit."  The  Divine  union 
which  he  sets  before  us  is  of  the  closest  kind.  "Our 
fellowship  is  with  the  Father,  and  with  His  Son 
Jesus  Christ ;"  "Ye  have  an  anointing  from  the  Holy 
One,  and  ye  know  all  things;"  "The  anointing 
which  ye  received  of  Him  abideth  in  you,  and  ye 
need  not  that  any  teach  you ;"  "Hereby  we  know 
that  He  abideth  in  us,  by  the  Spirit  which  He  hath 
given  us;"  "He  that  believeth  on  the  Son  of  God 
hath  the  witness ;"  "He  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwell- 
eth  in  God,  and  God  in  him,"  etc.  It  is  impossible 
to  quote  a  tithe  of  the  words  in  John's  Epistles  and 
Gospel  which  embody  the  fundamental  ideas  of 
Mysticism.  Especially  do  we  find  in  the  marvelous 
words  of  Jesus  reported  by  John  alone,  as*  by  the 
one  peculiarly  fitted  to  formulate  them,  in  the  thir- 


I02  Fenei^on:  The  Mystic 

teenth  to  the  seventeenth  chapters  of  his  Gospel,  the 
seeds  and  roots  of  all  which  have  been  drawn  forth 
by  subsequent  writers  on  these  profound  themes. 

Plato  has  been  called  "the  Father  of  European 
Mysticism."  Dr.  Inge  says :  "Both  the  great  types 
of  Mystics  may  appeal  to  him, — ^those  who  try  to 
rise  through  the  visible  to  the  invisible,  through  na- 
ture to  God ;  and  those  who  look  upon  this  earth  as 
a  place  of  banishment,  upon  material  things  as  a 
veil  which  hides  God's  face  from  us,  and  who  bid  us 
seek  yonder  in  the  realm  of  ideas  the  heart's  true 
home.  Plato  teaches  that  the  highest  good  is  the 
greatest  likeness  to  God ;  that  the  greatest  happi- 
ness is  the  vision  of  God ;  that  we  should  seek  holi- 
ness, not  for  the  sake  of  reward,  but  because  it  is  the 
health  of  the  soul,  while  vice  is  its  disease;  that 
goodness  is  unity  and  harmony,  while  evil  disinte- 
grates; that  it  is  our  duty  to  rise  above  the  visible 
and  transitory  to  the  invisible  and  permanent." 

The  Church  has  never  lacked  during  its  history 
for  those  who  have  followed  this  line  of  thought 
and  cultivated  this  kind  of  experience.  Clement  of 
Alexandria  has  been  called  "the  Founder  of  Chris- 
tian Mysticism,"  a  Neoplatonist  among  the  Fathers ; 
followed  by  Dionysius  the  Areopagite,  and  a  lengthy 
line  of  successors,  large  among  whom  looms  the 
noble  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  the  glory  of  the  twelfth 
century.  Without  tracing  out  the  story  in  detail  it 
will  be  enough  for  our  purpose  to  refer  briefly  to 
those  who,  in  the  few  centuries  before  Fenelon, 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  103 

stood  forth  most  prominently  as  leaders  in  this  realm 
of  truth,  and  so  prepared  the  way  for  him. 

In  the  fourteenth  century  we  find  a  most  re- 
markable band  of  devout  believers  who  called  them- 
selves "Friends  of  God,"  to  signify  that  they  had 
reached  that  stage  of  Christian  life  when  Christ,  ac- 
cording to  His  promise,  would  call  them  "no  longer 
servants  but  friends."  They  were  composed  of 
persons  from  all  classes  of  society,  and  from  all  the 
religious  orders.  Most  prominent  among  these 
were  Master  Eckhart — styled  "Doctor  Ecstaticus" 
— vicar-general  of  the  Dominican  order,  a  man  of 
uncommon  purity  of  life  and  great  excellence  of 
character,  one  of  the  profound  thinkers  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages;  Henry  Suso,  who  has  been  called  "the 
Minnesinger  of  Divine  Love,"  and  who  was  wont 
to  say,  "A  man  of  true  self-abandonment  must  be 
unbuilt  from  the  creature,  inbuilt  with  Christ,  and 
overhmlt  into  the  Godhead"  (he  was  prior  of  the 
Dominican  convent  at  Ulm,  where  he  died  in  1365) ; 
Nicholas  of  Basle ;  and  John  Tauler.  Nicholas  was 
a  layman  who  wielded  a  powerful  pen  and  was  also 
a  great  preacher;  thoroughly  devoted  to  religion 
from  his  earliest  days.  He  traveled  much  througli 
Germany,  propagating  his  opinions  in  a  quiet,  un- 
ostentatious manner,  and  gradually  there  grew  up 
around  him  a  society  of  Christians  composed  of 
men  and  women  likeminded  with  himself,  who  loved 
to  honor  him  as  their  spiritual  father.  It  seems  to 
have  been  largely  his  personal  influence  which  held 


104  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

them  together,  for  they  fell  to  pieces  after  he  was 
burned  at  the  stake  for  heresy,  near  Poitiers,  about 
1382. 

John  Tauler — "Doctor  Illuminatus" — ^bom  at 
Strasburg,  1290,  and  dying  there  in  1361,  was  still 
more  distinguished,  although  indebted  to  Nicholas 
for  being  led  out  into  the  light.  This  took  place 
when  he  was  over  fifty  years  of  age.  Nicholas, 
coming  to  Strasburg  to  hear  the  famous  preacher, 
speedily  detected  his  deficiency  in  spiritual  experi- 
ence, and  the  lack  of  true  power  attending  the  Word 
on  this  account.  With  rare  humility,  Tauler,  a 
learned  theologian,  received  this  rebuke  from  the 
uneducated  layman,  and  so  profited  by  it  that  he 
was  able,  though  not  without  long  struggle,  to  enter 
into  complete  freedom.  Then  he  preached  in  a  very 
diflferent  manner,  and  the  first  time  he  opened  his 
mouth  in  public  fourteen  persons  fell  as  if  dead 
under  the  Word,  and  nearly  thirty  others  were  so 
deeply  moved  that  they  remained  sitting  in  the 
churchyard  long  after  the  congregation  was  dis- 
missed, unwilling  to  move  away.  For  eighteen 
years  after  this  second  conversion  he  made  great 
progress  in  the  divine  life,  rising  to  a  place  of  high- 
est esteem  with  his  brethren,  and  being  rightly  reck- 
oned among  the  chief  of  God's  children  on  earth. 

Properly  to  be  counted  among  these  Friends  of 
God  can  be  set  down  the  unknown  author  of 
"Deutsche  Theologie,"  or  "Theologia  Germanica," 
which  contained  so  much  truth  that  it  had  the  dis- 


Mysticism  and  Quinism.  105 

tinguished  honor  of  being  put  upon  the  Romish  In- 
dex of  prohibited  works.  Luther  ascribed  it  to 
Tauler.  It  is  in  his  style,  and  contains  his  senti- 
ments ;  but  it  is  now  considered  more  probable  that 
it  originated  a  little  later  than  his  time,  and  was 
written  by  some  other  member  of  the  band.  It  was 
their  usual  practice  to  conceal  their  names  as  much 
as  possible  when  they  wrote,  lest  a  desire. for  fame 
should  mingle  in  their  endeavors  to  be  useful. 
Luther  placed  it  next  to  the  Bible  and  St,  Augus- 
tine as  a  source  of  knowledge  concerning  God  and 
Christ  and  man.  Baron  Bunsen  ranks  it  still  higher. 
And  many  others  have  expressed  their  supreme  in- 
debtedness to  it  for  help  in  respect  to  the  perfect 
life.  It  has  continued  up  to  the  present  day  to  be 
the  favorite  handbook  of  devotion  in  Germany. 

Concerning  the  views  and  doctrines  of  these 
Friends  of  God,  although  some  of  their  expressions 
and  opinions  may  be  objected  to,  considering  the 
corrupt  age  in  which  they  lived  they  must  be  pro- 
nounced worthy  of  high  praise.  They  insisted,  first 
of  all,  on  the  uttermost  self-renunciation,  yet  they 
avoided  the  system  of  penances  and  austerities  com- 
mon in  the  monasteries.  Neither  idle  contempla- 
tion nor  passive  asceticism  found  favor  with  them ; 
they  were  evangelical  and  practical,  full  of  good 
works  and  the  imitation  of  Christ  both  in  patient 
suffering  and  active  usefulness.  '  They  were  ani- 
mated by  an  exalted  reformatory  spirit  which  threw 
them  out  of  touch  with    the  ecclesiastics    around 


io6  FiNELON:  The  Mystic 

them.  Though  they  did  not  in  all  cases  fall  under 
the  ban  of  the  Church,  they  may  still  be  regarded 
as  forerunners  of  the  Reformation.  Their  Mys- 
ticism was  a  powerful  protest  against  the  terrible 
corruptions  of  the  Romish  Church  and  the  cold, 
barren  speculations  of  scholasticism.  They  craved 
and  secured  direct  communion  with  God,  unre- 
stricted by  human  interposition ;  an  immediate  vision 
of  the  Almighty,  undimmed  by  any  separating  veil 
and  unchanged  by  any  distorting  medium.  The 
highest  form  of  the  Divine  life  in  a  man  seemed  to 
them  to  be  perfect  resignation  to  the  will  of  God, 
and  they  counted  prayer  to  be  the  best  means  of 
bringing  about  this  state  of  resignation.  "To  pray 
for  a  change  in  one's  circumstances,"  they  said,  "is 
to  pray  that  what  God  sends  may  be  made  subject 
to  us,  not  that  we  should  submit  ourselves  to  it; 
and  so  tends  to  produce  self-assertion,  not  self-re- 
nunciation." Nicholas  taught  that  "when  self-re- 
nunciation is  complete,  the  soul  of  man,  having  be- 
come entirely  resigned  to  the  Divine  will,  becomes 
so  entirely  assimilated  to  the  Divine  nature  that  it 
has  continually  a  near  fellowship  with  God;  he  is 
always  in  familiar  intercourse  with  the  Spirit  of 
God,  who  communicates  to  him  all  Divine  knowl- 
edge." "All  things  to  the  beloved  are  of  God ;  all, 
therefore,  are  indifferent."  That  religion  which 
sprang  from  fear  of  punishment  or  hope  of  reward 
they  counted  of  little  worth,  and  considered  love  to 
be  by  far   the  highest  state,    the  only  one    truly 


Mysticism  and  Quinism.  107 

worthy  of  the  Christian.^  Their  union  with  Deity 
was  not  that  of  pantheism  but  of  passionate  love, 
and  great  prominence  was  given  to  the  will  as  the 
mainspring  on  which  all  developments  of  the  higher 
life  depend. 

The  following  quotations  from  "Theologia  Ger- 
manica"  will  convey  in  a  few  words  what  may  be 
called  the  root  ideas  of  the  book  and  of  the  men 
whose  spirit  it  so  well  embodies : 

"A  true  lover  of  God  loveth  Him  alike  in  hav- 
ing and  in  not  having,  in  sweetness  and  in  bitter- 
ness, in  good  or  evil  report;  for  he  seeketh  only 
the  honor  of  God,  and  not  his  own,  either  in  spir- 
itual or  natural  things.  Therefore  he  standeth 
alike  unshaken  in  all  things." 

"All  disobedience  is  contrary  to  God,  and  noth- 
ing else.  In  truth,  no  thing  is  contrary  to  God; 
no  creature,  nor  creature's  work,  nor  anything  that 
we  can  name  or  think  of,  is  contrary  to  God  or  dis- 
pleasing to  Him,  but  only  disobedience  and  the  dis- 


lEven  Spinoza  said,  "He  that  would  love  God  aright  must  not 
seek  to  be  loved  in  return;"  and  Goethe  confessed  himself  haunted 
by  this  wonderful  saying.  It  is  fully  in  accord  with  the  fact  that  th« 
most  chivalrous  and  generous  friendship  is  never  concerned  about 
payment  in  kind,  about  what  it  shall  get  in  return ;  it  only  asks  the 
privilege  of  loving  and  of  pouring  itself  out  unstintedly  for  its 
beloved.  Disinterestedness  should  not  probably  be  pressed  as  a 
requirement  upon  minds  not  capable  of  such  heights^  but  it  has  a 
grandeur  that  appeals  sometimes  to  nearly  all.  This  was  especially 
the  case  in  an  age  when  Jesuit  cheapjacks  were  accustomed  to 
haggle  with  God  for  the  price  of  the  soul,  and  discuss  whether  it 
was  necessary  to  love  Him  once  in  a  week  or  once  in  a  year,  or 
whether  salvation  might  not  be  purchased  still  more  cheaply  at  the 
price  of  one  act  of  love  in  a  lifetime. 


io8  Fenei^on:  The  Mystic 

obedient  man.  In  short,  all  that  is,  is  well-pleasing 
and  good  in  God's  eyes,  saving  only  the  disobedient 
man." 

"The  man  who  is  truly  godlike  complaineth  of 
nothing  but  of  sin  only.  And  sin  is  simply  to  desire 
or  will  anything  otherwise  than  the  one  perfect 
good  and  the  one  eternal  will,  or  to  wish  to  have  a 
will  of  one's  own." 

"Sin  is  to  will,  desire,  or  love  otherwise  than 
God  doth.  Things  do  not  thus  will,  desire,  or  love : 
therefore  things  are  not  evil;  all  things  are  good." 

"He  who  is  truly  a  virtuous  man  would  not 
cease  to  be  so  to  gain  the  whole  world;  yea,  he 
would  rather  die  a  miserable  death.  To  him  virtue 
is  its  own  reward,  and  he  is  content  therewith,  and 
would  take  no  treasure  or  riches  in  exchange  for  it." 

"Union  with  God  is  brought  to  pass  in  three 
ways;  to  wit,  by  pureness  and  singleness  of  heart, 
by  love,  and  by  the  contemplation  of  God." 

A  still  greater  name  among  the  Mystic  writers, 
coming  a  bit  later  than  those  already  mentioned,  is 
that  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  born  near  Cologne,  in 
this  same  West  Germany  where  the  Friends  of  God 
flourished,  in  1386,  and  dying  about  1470.  His 
"Imitation  of  Christ"  stands  easily  at  the  head  of 
its  class,  first  in  popularity  and  usefulness  among 
manuals  for  devotion.  "The  epic  poem  of  the  inner 
life,"  it  has  lent  the  fragrance  of  its  sanctity  to 
every  language  of  the  civilized  world,  and  has  been 
a  prime  favorite  for  nearly  five  hundred  years  with 


Mysticism  and  Quie;tism.  109 

all  those  who  have  made  largest  advancement  in 
holy  things.  Only  a  few  extracts  need  be  given  to 
show  how  closely  it  is  in  line  with  what  has  already 
been  said,  and  what  remains  to  be  said,  concerning 
the  topic  of  our  chapter : 

"When  a  man  is  so  far  advanced  in  the  Chris- 
tian life  as  not  to  seek  consolation  from  any  created 
thing,  then  does  he  first  begin  perfectly  to  enjoy 
God;  his  heart  is  wholly  fixed  and  established  in 
God  who  is  his  All  in  All." 

"There  is  no  other  occasion  of  perplexity  and 
disquiet  but  an  unsubdued  will  and  unmortified  af- 
fections." 

"Self-denial  is  the  test  of  spiritual  perfection, 
and  he  that  truly  denies  himself  is  arrived  at  a 
state  of  great  freedom  and  safety.  It  is  no  small 
advantage  to  suppress  desire,  even  in  inconsiderable 
gratifications.  Restless  and  inordinate  desires  are 
the  ground  of  every  temptation." 

"Abandon  all,  and  thou  shalt  possess  all ;  relin- 
quish desire,  and  thou  shalt  find  rest." 

"No  evil  is  permitted  to  befall  thee  but  what 
may  be  made  productive  of  a  much  greater  good. 
Receive  all  with  thankfulness,  as  from  the  hand 
of  God,  and  esteem  it  great  gain." 

"For  all  that  befalleth  me  I  will  thank  the  Love 
that  prompts  the  g^ft,  and  reverence  the  Hand  that 
confers  it." 

"O  Lord  God,  holy  Father,  be  Thou  blessed  now 


no  FenEIvOn:  The  Mystic. 

and  forever!  For  whatever  Thou  wiliest  is  done, 
and  all  that  Thou  wiliest  is  good." 

"The  righteous  should  never  be  moved  by  what- 
ever befalls  him,  knowing  that  it  comes  from  the 
hands  of  God,  and  is  to  promote  the  important  busi- 
ness of  our  redemption.  Without  God,  nothing  is 
done  upon  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"Perfection  consists  in  offering  up  thyself,  with 
thy  whole  heart,  to  the  will  of  God ;  never  seeking 
thine  own  will  either  in  small  or  great  respects; 
but  with  an  equal  mind  weighing  all  events  in  the 
balance  of  the  sanctuary,  and  receiving  both  pros- 
perity and  adversity  with  equal  thanksgiving." 

"All  is  vanity  but  the  love  of  God  and  a  life  de- 
voted to  His  will." 

Passing  over  St.  Theresa  and  St.  John  of  the 
Cross^ — particulars  about  whom  may  be  found  in 
Vaughan — and  denying  ourselves,  through  limita- 
tions of  space,  all  quotations  from  Rodriguez  and 
Scupoli,*  who  flourished  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  wrote  divinely  about  Divine  things,  leaving  th^ 
world  heroic  examples  of  holiness, — we  come  to  St. 
Francis  of  Sales  and  Molinos,  both  of  whom  had 


singe  says:  "Fiery  energry  and  unresting  industry  character- 
ized St.  John  of  the  Cross.  No  one  ever  climbed  the  rugged  peaks  of 
Mt.  Carmel  with  more  heroic  courage  and  patience.  His  life  shows 
what  tremendous  moral  force  is  generated  by  complete  self-surren- 
der to  God.    His  reward  was  fellowship  with  Christ  In  suffering." 

•♦See  "Honey  from  Many  Hives,"  gathered  "by  Rev.  James  Mudge, 
New  York,  Eaton  and  Mains,  1899.  Large  quotations  also  from 
Francis  of  Sales  are  given  in  this  volume,  and  from  many  other 
Mystical  writers. 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  hi 

close  connection  with  Fenelon,  although  in  different 
ways.  Francis — ^born  in  1567  and  departing  to 
glory  in  1622,  who  has  been  called  "the  noblest, 
tenderest  and  most  devoted  Mystic  of  the  Catholic 
Church  after  the  Reformation" — more  than  any 
other,  was  Fenelon's  teacher  in  matters  pertaining 
to  the  inner  life,  even  as  Scupoli  had  been  the 
teacher  of  Francis.  Fenelon  never  wearies  of 
recommending  to  the  correspondents  whom  he  is 
instructing  in  spiritual  things  the  perusal  of  the 
works  of  this  delightful  and  inspiring  writer.  He 
says  to  one :  "You  can  read  nothing  better  than  St. 
Francis  of  Sales.  Everything  he  writes  is  full  of 
comfort  and  love;  although  his  whole  tone  is  that 
of  self-mortification,  it  is  all  deep  experience,  sim- 
ple precautions,  high  feeling,  and  the  light  of  grace. 
You  will  have  made  a  great  step  when  you  are  fa- 
miliar with  such  mental  food."  Upon  another  he 
urges  "a  half  hour  spent  in  meditative  reading  of 
the  Gospels  in  the  morning,  and  an  evening  portion 
of  St.  Francis  de  Sales."  To  the  Elector  of  Cologne, 
when  about  to  receive  episcopal  consecration,  he 
says,  "Read  the  Life  and  Works  of  St.  Francis 
de  Sales."  We  do  not  wonder  at  these  coun- 
sels. The  two  men,  the  two  Francises,  were 
entirely  congenial,  marvelously  alike  in  heart 
and  head,  with  similar  vivacity,  urbanity,  and  grace 
of  manner,  polish  of  style,  profundity  of  insight  into 
the  soul,  and  practical  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Both  had  high  rank  in  State  and  Church,  strong  in- 


113  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

tellects,  intense  devotion  to  God,  and  ability  to  ex- 
press truth  in  a  simple,  lucid,  attractive  way.  They 
were  alike  in  that  the  profound  piety  they  taught 
was  not,  as  in  the  previous  age,  reserved  for  the 
cloister,  but  was  quite  compatible  with  mingling  in 
the  world,  requiring  no  great  change  of  habits,  but 
an  entire  change  of  motive.  Even  the  life  at  court 
might  be  continued  and  graced  with  cheerful  obe- 
dience to  the  whole  will  of  God;  all  the  actions  of 
the  day  could  be  sanctified  by  a  perpetual  prayer 
offered  up  in  their  midst  and  by  a  sincere  intention 
to  please  God;  the  humble  every-day  virtues  were 
extolled,  and  no  austerities  recommended.  Thus  re- 
ligion was  made  commensurate  with  the  whole  of 
life,  and  the  saint  could  join  in  all  that  others  did, 
except  sin.  No  difference  can  be  found  in  their 
doctrines,  or  even  their  forms  of  expression,  and  it 
seems  like  an  irony  of  fate  that  the  Bishop  of 
Geneva  should  be  canonized  in  1665  by  the  same 
Church  which  condemned,  in  1699,  the  Archbishop 
of  Cambrai.  The  fictitious  and  factitious  reasons 
that  led  to  the  latter  will  be  detailed  a  little  later. 

Part  of  the  reason  is  connected  with  the  history 
and  fate  of  Miguel  de  Molinos,  commonly  esteemed 
to  be  the  founder  of  the  Quietists.  He  was  a  Span- 
ish theologian,  born  of  noble  parentage  near  Sara- 
gossa,  December  21,  1627.  He  acquired  a  great 
reputation  at  Rome  and  elsewhere  for  purity  of  life 
and  vigor  of  intellect,  but  steadily  refused  all  eccle- 
siastical   preferment.      In    1675   he  published  his 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  113 

"Spiritual  Guide,"  which  in  a  few  years  passed 
through  twenty  editions  in  different  languages,  and 
was  warmly  hailed  by  people  of  marked  piety  in 
many  lands.  But  it  was  soon  bitterly  attacked,  es- 
pecially by  the  Jesuits,  who  quickly  perceived  that 
Molinos'  system  tacitly  accused  the  Romish  Church 
of  a  departure  from  the  true  religion,  and  that  his 
whole  doctrine  would  militate  against  the  power 
of  the  priesthood  and  the  importance  of  ceremonial- 
ism. Although  he  had  a  vast  number  of  friends, 
some  of  them  eminent  for  learning  and  piety,  and 
even  high  in  worldly  rank,  and  though  the  pontiff 
himself.  Innocent  XI,  was  partial  to  him,  he  was, 
in  1685,  cited  before  the  Inquisition  and  subjected 
to  close  examination  as  well  as  rigid  imprisonment. 
It  is  said  that  as  many  as  twenty  thousand  letters 
were  found  in  his  house,  which,  if  true,  shows  the 
degree  to  which  the  movement  he  headed  had 
spread,  and  the  hunger  of  great  multitudes  for  spir- 
itual food.  His  trial  lasted  two  years,  and  in  1687 
sixty-eight  propositions,  purporting  to  be  extracted 
from  his  book,  were  condemned,  and  he  was  de- 
clared to  have  taught  false  and  dangerous  dogmas 
contrary  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Church.  He  was 
compelled  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  where  he  died,  after 
many  years  of  close  confinement,  in  which  he  ex- 
hibited the  greatest  humility  and  peace  of  mind. 

The  principles  of  his  book  have  been  much  mis- 
understood  and   misrepresented.      The    following 
8 


1X4  FiNELON:  The  Mystic 

statement  is  believed  to  be  substantially  correct.  He 
taught  that  Christian  perfection  consists  in  the 
peace  of  the  soul,  springing  from  a  complete  self- 
surrender  into  the  hands  of  God,  in  the  renounce- 
ment of  all  external,  temporal  things,  and  in  the 
pure  love  of  God  free  from  all  considerations  of  in- 
terest or  hope  of  reward.  A  soul  which  desires  the 
supreme  good  must  renounce  all  sensual  and  ma- 
terial things,  silence  every  impulse,  and  concen- 
trate itself  on  God.  In  a  state  of  perfect  contempla- 
tion the  soul  desires  absolutely  nothing,  not  even 
its  own  salvation;  it  fears  nothing,  not  even  hell; 
the  one  only  feeling  of  which  it  is  conscious  is  utter 
abandonment  to  God's  good  will  and  pleasure ;  it  is 
indifferent  to  all  else ;  and  nothing  which  does  not 
reach  the  will,  where  alone  virtue  resides,  can  really 
pollute  the  soul.  The  system  was  termed  Quietism, 
because  it  laid  so  much  stress  upon  inward  quiet, 
passive  contemplation,  and  silent  prayer;  also  upon 
freedom  from  hope  and  fear,  the  great  agitators  of 
the  human  mind. 

It  is  a  very  vulgar  error  to  suppose  that  the 
Mystics  taught  abstention  from  good  works,  or  out- 
ward inactivity;  for  none  were  busier  in  blessing 
their  fellow-men,  as  the  twenty  thousand  letters 
above  mentioned  might  indicate,  as  well  as  the  cease- 
less endeavors  in  this  direction  put  forth  by  Madame 
Guyon,  Fenelon,  and  the  rest.  Mystics  are  not  im- 
practicable dreamers;  they  have  been  in  a  very 
marked   degree   energetic  and   influential.      Their 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  115 

passivity  simply  meant  a  calm  yet  glad  acceptance 
of  all  God's  dispensations.  They  were  also  abun- 
dantly active  in  the  highest  sense,  since  the  old  facul- 
ties were  transformed  and  uplifted  and  no  longer 
shackled  by  the  cramping  chains  of  sin,  but  enabled 
to  do  far  more  for  the  good  of  mankind  and  the 
glory  of  God  in  their  happy,  healthy  working  than 
they  ever  had  done  before.  They  laid  great  stress 
upon  faith,  rather  than  rites  or  austerities,  as  a 
means  of  justification  and  sanctification,  a  peculiar- 
ity which  seems  at  the  bottom  of  the  remark  of  the 
Romish  ecclesiastic  who  wrote,  under  date  of  July 
10,  1685,  "I  am  informed  that  a  Jesuit  named 
Molinos  has  been  put  into  the  Inquisition  at  Rome, 
accused  of  wishing  to  become  chief  of  a  new  sect 
called  Quietists,  whose  principles  are  somewhat 
similar  to  those  of  the  Puritans  in  England."  There 
is  sufficient  similarity  between  the  Quietism  of  the 
seventeenth  century  and  the  Pietism  and  Meth- 
odism of  Germany  and  England  in  the  eighteenth 
century  to  give  us  a  friendly  feeling  toward  it.  That 
the  former  was  not  so  well  guarded  as  the  latter; 
was  less  directed  to  practical  ends ;  was  not  in  con- 
trol of  such  cool,  sensible  minds ;  ran  very  easily 
into  abuses ;  had  stronger  pantheistic  leanings ;  was 
more  open  to  the  objection  that  it  taught  a  strained, 
impossible  perfection  utterly  out  of  reach  of  all  but 
the  few,  and  attainable  by  those  few  perhaps  only 
under  very  favorable  conditions, — may  be  freely 
granted.    But  it  does  not,  and  need  not,  prevent  our 


ii6  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

sympathies  going  out  strongly  toward  those  who, 
in  that  earlier  day  and  amid  much  difficulty,  struck 
out  the  high  path  on  lines  not  essentially  at  variance 
with  those  who,  in  easier  times  of  greater  enlight- 
enment, came  after  them.  The  Mystics,  with  all 
their  extravagances,  possessed  more  of  the  truth  of 
God  than  could  be  found  elsewhere  within  the  wide 
domains  of  the  Roman  Church.  The  Reformers 
recognized  this,  and  sympathized  far  more  deeply 
with  them  than  with  the  schoolmen. 

It  should  be  said,  also,  that  the  Quietists  vehe- 
mently repudiated  the  constructions  put  upon  their 
writings  by  their  enemies,  and  the  evil  inferences 
which  were  drawn  from  them.  They  protested 
against  what  others  professed  to  find  there  as  being 
no  part  of  their  real  belief.  It  seems  to  us  that  they 
have  a  perfect  right  to  be  heard  in  explanation  of 
their  tenets,  and  much  allowance  must  be  made  for 
those  endeavoring  to  find  expressions  that  would 
convey  such  profound  and  lofty  thoughts.  Pro- 
fessor George  P.  Fisher,  in  his  "History  of  the 
Christian  Church,"  says,  "The  real  ground  of  hos- 
tility to  Quietism  was  its  tendency  to  lead  to  the 
dispensing  with  auricular  confession  and  penances 
and  outward  rites  altogether," 

It  will  be  sufficiently  evident  from  what  has  been 
now  written  that  there  is  Mysticism  and  Mysticism ; 
and  that  that  which  has  the  best  right  to  the  name 
lies  very  close  to  the  most  essential  truth  of  the  best 
religion,  inseparable  from  it  so  far  as  it  is  to  answer 
the  deepest  yearnings  of  the  human  heart.    If  re- 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  117 

ligion  is  not  to  be  made  wholly  objective,  reduced 
to  a  round  of  external  performances,  accounted 
synonymous  with  philanthropy  and  morality;  if  its 
subjective  side  is  to  have  proper  recognition  as  the 
controlling  one;  if  being  is  to  take  rank  above  do- 
ing, as  we  firmly  believe  it  should, — ^then  we  are 
all  Mystics  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  Since  we 
have  to  do  with  "the  love  of  Christ  which  passeth 
knowledge,"  and  which  must  be  known  by  some 
higher  faculty  than  the  understanding ;  since  the  new 
birth  is  fitly  compared  by  the  Master  to  the  mys- 
terious coming  and  going  of  the  winds  of  heaven, 
and  can  not  be  completely  comprehended  by  the 
human  reason ;  since  the  method  of  God  with  the 
soul  of  man  passes  all  metes  and  bounds  of  man's 
finite  mind,  and  the  operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
can  not  be  wholly  fathomed  by  cold  intellect, — Mys- 
ticism has  extremely  close  relations  with  all  parts 
of  supernaturalism.  It  is  grounded  in  a  profounder 
philosophy  than  those  can  offer  who  assume  to 
scout  and  scorn  it.  We  as  Methodists,  especially, 
believe  firmly  in  feeling,  and  in  a  first-hand  knowl- 
edge of  God  as  the  privilege  of  each  genuine  be- 
liever. We  hold  fast  to  experience  as  having  rights 
which  logic  and  dog^a  must  respect;  we  have  ex- 
alted life  above  theory,  and  the  vision  divine  above 
dead  orthodoxy;  we  maintain  that  there  is  a  God- 
consciousness,  as  well  as  a  self-consciousness  and 
a  world-consciousness;  and  that  spiritual  facts  can 
be,  and  should  be,  verified  in  personal  experience. 
We  count  the  words  of  Pascal  divinely  true :  "The 


xi8  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

things  of  this  world  must  be  known  in  order  to  be 
loved ;  but  the  things  of  God  must  be  loved  in  order 
to  be  known." 

"Mysticism,"  says  Professor  J.  E.  Latimer,  "has 
ever  been  a  reaction  from  formalism  and  dogma- 
tism in  religion.  When  Christian  men  have  been 
relying  upon  the  letter,  the  Mystic  has  always  ex- 
alted the  spirit.  When  the  Church  has  been  con- 
tent with  mere  dogmatic  statement  and  intellectual 
orthodoxy,  a  Mystic  revival  has  come  to  rehabili- 
tate its  spiritual  life,  and  sends  new  streams  of 
power  along  its  arid  channel."  Do  we  not  greatly 
need  this  revival  now  ?  We  do  not  believe  there  is 
any  special  danger  to-day  from  one-sided  subjec- 
tivity and  morbid  introspection.  The  peril  is  alto- 
gether the  other  way.  Our  great  want  is  a  pro- 
founder  apprehension  of  the  basal  truths  of  the 
spiritual  life,  and  their  practical  translation  into 
individual  experience.  The  knowledge  of  God  is 
widespread,  but  it  is  superficial.  Piety  is  very  bus- 
tling, but  it  is  not  deep.  The  utterances  of  the 
Savior  and  His  apostles  are  taken  at  a  large  discount, 
and  the  mass  of  believers  are  easily  content  with  a 
low  condition  of  spirituality.  Hence  the  Church  is 
feeble,  and  fails  to  impress  itself  strongly  upon  the 
world.  It  would  be  immensely  benefited  by  a  large 
infusion  of  the  spirit  of  the  true  Mystic,  who  wages 
the  most  deadly  war  with  all  carnality;  who  has  a 
terrible  moral  intensity;  who  renounces  absolutely 
all  that  dims  the  radiance  or  shadows  the  image  of 
the  Perfect  One  in  the  mirror  of  the  soul;  who  is 


Mysticism  and  Quietism.  iig 

determined,  so  far  as  in  him  lies,  to  bridge  the  gulf 
that  separates  him  from  his  Maker  and  make  the 
closest  possible  approach  to  God.  Of  Rabbi  Gama- 
liel, a  genuine  Mystic,  it  is  reported  that  he  prayed, 
"O  Lord,  grant  that  I  may  do  Thy  will  as  if  it 
were  my  will,  and  that  Thou  mayest  do  my  will  as 
if  it  were  Thy  will."  Charles  Wesley,  another  Mys- 
tic, is  very  bold  and  says, 

"Let  all  I  am  in  Thee  be  lost, 
Let  all  I  am  be  God." 

Why  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incredible  with 
any  that  man  may  become  a  partaker  of  the  Divine 
nature?  If  to  a  small  extent,  why  not,  when  all 
the  conditions  are  favorable,  to  a  very  large  ex- 
tent? Why  should  not  the  Church  in  general,  and 
the  Methodist  Church  in  particular,  get  a  new  grip 
on  this  much  neglected  but  every  way  fruitful  truth 
of  the  Divine  indwelling  and  the  Divine  immanence, 
God  in  all  and  all  in  God,  the  universe  but  the  will 
of  God  expressed  in  forms  of  time  and  space,  hu- 
manity reaching  its  highest  point  of  development 
when  it  most  completely  entemples  Deity,  nature  a 
symbol  of  God,  God  revealed  in  His  works?  Just 
so  far  as  this  shall  be  accomplished  will  the  Church 
swing  out  into  a  wealthy  place,  and  march  forward 
to  large  conquest.  Complete  surrender  will  be  the 
prelude  to  complete  possession,  and  complete  pos- 
session will  straightway  be  turned  into  complete 
victory  over  every  foe. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  GREAT  CONFLICT. 

We  come  now  to  the  central  period  of  Fenelon's 
career,  that  wherein  he  put  forth  his  greatest  men- 
tal exertion,  fighting,  as  it  were,  for  his  very  life, 
and  for  that  truth  which  he  held  much  dearer  than 
life.  It  is  a  period  which  every  sketch  of  him, 
however  brief,  touches  upon,  and  which  we  must  set 
forth  at  some  length.  The  last  chapter,  on  Mysti- 
cism and  Quietism,  will  have  prepared  us  to  con- 
sider somewhat  sympathetically  the  career  of 
Madame  Guyon,  who  was  so  closely  linked  with 
Fenelon  during  these  few  years,  and  who  was  the 
chief  exponent  of  the  Quietist  or  Mystic  beliefs  at 
this  time  in  France.  She  was  born,  as  Jeanne  Marie 
Bouvier  de  la  Mothe,  April  13,  1648,  at  Montar- 
gis,  about  fifty  miles  south  of  Paris,  and  wedded  be- 
fore she  was  sixteen,  by  the  arrangement  of  her 
parents,  to  a  man  of  thirty-eight,  M,  Jacques  Guyon, 
who  was  very  wealthy.  She  had  an  unhappy  mar- 
ried life,  closed  by  the  death  of  her  husband  when 
she  was  twenty-eight.  She  had  five  children,  two 
of  whom  died  in  infancy.  SuflFering  was  her  por- 
tion, and  religion  her  consolation,  through  all  her 
days.    When  not  yet  thirteen  she  read  with  eager- 


The;  Great  Confi^ict.  121 

ness  the  Life  of  Madame  Chantal,  Kempis'  "Imita- 
tion of  Christ,"  and  the  works  of  Francis  of  Sales, 
making  a  vow  at  this  time  to  aim  at  the  highest 
perfection  and  to  do  the  will  of  God  in  everything. 
Later,  when  seventeen,  this  determination  was  re- 
newed with  fuller  purpose  and  intelligence;  yet  it 
was  not  till  she  was  twenty,  so  limited  were  her 
privileges  of  instruction,  that  her  heart  became  thor- 
oughly changed,  the  pleasures  of  the  world 
put  definitely  aside,  and  her  life  devoted  en- 
tirely to  God.  Her  education,  in  a  convent,  was 
quite  defective,  but  her  natural  abilities  were  very 
great.  She  had  remarkable  powers  of  conversation, 
her  intellect  was  keen,  her  ascend^cy  over  other 
minds,  even  some  of  the  greatest,  in  after  years  was 
very  striking.  She  learned  Latin  subsequently,  that 
she  might  carry  on  her  studies  more  profoundly. 
She  prepared  extensive  commentaries  on  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  her  writings,  in  their  collective  form, 
were  issued  in  forty  volumes.  Afflictions  many 
were  used  by  the  Lord  to  chasten  her  spirit  and 
deepen  her  experience.  She  lost  her  mother  and 
father,  lost  a  dearly  beloved  son  and  darling  daugh- 
ter, lost  her  beauty  by  the  scourge  of  smallpox  at 
the  age  of  twenty-two,  lost  her  dearest  friend  and 
religious  confidante,  Genevieve  Granger,  prioress  of 
the  Benedictines,  in  1673,  and  then  her  husband  in 
1676. 

It  was  July  22,  1672,  that  she  gave  herself  to 
the  Lord  afresh,  with  larger  comprehension  and 


122  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

consecration,  without  reservation  of  purpose  or 
time,  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  signing  and  seal- 
ing the  following  covenant:  "I  henceforth  take 
Jesus  Christ  to  be  mine.  I  promise  to  receive  Him 
as  a  husband  to  me,  and  I  give  myself  to  Him,  un- 
worthy though  I  am,  to  be  His  spouse.  I  ask  of 
Him,  in  this  marriage  of  spirit  with  spirit,  that  I 
may  be  of  the  same  mind  with  Him — meek,  pure, 
nothing  in  myself,  and  united  in 'God's  will;  and, 
pledged  as  I  am  to  be  His,  I  accept  as  a  part  of  my 
marriage  portion,  the  temptations  and  sorrows,  the 
crosses  and  the  contempts,  which  fell  to  Him."  This 
sacred  covenant  of  the  spiritual  marriage  with  her 
Redeemer,  she  carefully  renewed  and  reviewed  on 
its  anniversary.  Especially  noticeable  was  the  re- 
newal in  1 68 1,  for  it  took  place  in  Annecy,  at  the 
tomb  of  St.  Francis  of  Sales,  who,  more  than  any 
other  human  being,  was  her  master  in  spiritual 
things,  as  he  has  been  to  hundreds  of  thousands 
more.  When  left  a  widow  with  large  property  in- 
terests, she  first  settled  up  the  affairs  of  the  ex- 
tensive estate  with  much  skill,  without  assistance 
from  any  one,  did  much  in  charity  for  those  around 
her,  looked  after  her  children,  and  then  gradually 
felt  her  way  to  what  was  to  be  her  life-work  in  the 
world.  Her  spiritual  experience  all  the  while  was 
advancing;  she  was  sinking  more  thoroughly  out 
of  self  into  God.  July  22,  1680,  was  a  specially 
memorable  epoch  with  her,  when  she  began  to  count 
the  life  of  nature  as  fully  slain  within,  when  her 


Thb  Grkat  Confuct.  123 

soul  seemed  to  be  delivered  from  all  its  chains,  and 
set  wholly  at  liberty,  in  a  way  not  known  before. 
She  says,  "I  had  a  deep  peace ;  a  peace  which  seemed 
to  pervade  the  whole  soul;  a  peace  which  resulted 
from  the  fact  that  all  my  desires  were  fulfilled  in 
God.  I  desired  nothing;  feared  nothing;  willed 
nothing.  I  feared  nothing ;  that  is  to  say,  I  feared 
nothing  considered  in  its  ultimate  results  and  rela- 
tions, because  my  strong  faith  placed  God  at  the 
head  of  all  perplexities  and  all  events.  I  desired 
nothing  but  what  I  now  have,  because  I  had  a  full 
belief  that  in  my  present  state  of  mind  the  results 
of  each  moment,  considered  in  relatiofl  to  myself, 
constituted  the  fulfillment  of  the  Divine  purposes. 
I  willed  nothing;  meaning  in  this  statement  that  I 
had  no  will  of  my  own.  As  a  sanctified  heart  is  al- 
ways in  harmony  with  the  Divine  providences,  I 
had  no  will  but  the  Divine  will,  of  which  such  provi- 
dences are  the  true  and  appropriate  expression." 

This  extract  expresses  as  well,  perhaps,  as  any- 
thing can,  the  mainsprings  of  her  personal  feeling 
and  the  chief  substance  of  her  teaching.  She  al- 
ways beheld  the  hand  of  God  in  all  things,  recog- 
nized practically  that  God  orders  and  provides  every 
allotment  in  life,  every  situation,  however  distress- 
ing to  the  flesh  or  perplexing  to  the  perceptions. 
She  looked  at  everything  on  the  side  of  God,  and 
found  Him  always  manifested  in  His  providences. 
She  was  not  merely  consecrated  to  God's  will,  she 
rested  in  His  will,  united  to  it  by  a  most  simple 


124  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

faith,  finding  her  joy  in  Jesus.  All  that  had  God 
in  it — and  that  included  everything  except  sin — 
was  delightful  to  her.  She  found  the  order  of  Di- 
vine providence  a  very  precious  and  sufficient  rule 
of  conduct ;  for  she  accounted  that  every  successive 
second,  and  every  event,  however  minute,  had  some- 
thing about  it  which  made  known  His  will.  Hence, 
trusting  fully,  and  finding  God  always  everywhere, 
nothing  moved  her.  And  she  came  to  feel  it  to  be 
her  special  mission,  since  God  had  revealed  these 
things  to  her,  as  He  had  not  to  others,  to  proclaim 
this  particular  kind  of  holiness;  a  holiness  which 
was  a  present  privilege  and  possession,  based  upon 
and  secured  by  faith.  This  interior  life,  or  "inward 
path,"  as  she  sometimes  called  it,  or  state  of  perfect 
obedience  to  the  will  of  God,  had  still  another  name 
by  which  it  came  to  be  widely  known — ^the  name 
of  disinterested  (or  pure,  perfect,  unselfish)  love.  By 
this  was  meant  a  love  which  served  God  for  Him- 
self alone,  uninfluenced  by  fear  of  punishment  or 
hope  of  reward. 

She  was  led  to  go  to  the  south  of  France,  to 
Gex,  Thonon,  Grenoble,  Nice,  Marseilles;  and  as 
she  taught  these  things  to  those  who  came  within 
her  reach — and  great  numbers  resorted  to  her — 
she  began  straightway  to  endure  the  persecutions 
which  are  promised  by  St.  Paul  to  those  who  folldW 
the  godly  life.  She  preached  reality  rather  than 
forms.  The  two  great  principles  which  she  clearly, 
strongly  proclaimed  were  self-renunciation  and  per- 


Th^  Grkat  Confi^ict.  125 

feet  union  with  the  Divine  will;  nothing  in  our- 
selves, but  all  in  God.  She  urged  also  the  reading 
and  study  of  the  Bible,  which  she  constantly  prac- 
ticed herself.  These  things,  of  course,  brought 
down  upon  her  the  severest  opposition  from  the 
ruling  authorities  in  the  Church.  Some  were  jeal- 
ous of  her  because  she  was  a  woman;  some  were 
rebuked  in  their  sins ;  some  felt  that  she  was  preach- 
ing the  heresies  of  Protestantism;  some  were  of- 
fended at  the  unaccustomed  terms  she  employed. 
The  doctrine  of  full  salvation  by  faith  and  complete 
conformity  to  Christ  crucified,  never  popular  in  any 
age  or  land,  was  particularly  obnoxious  then  and 
there.  When  persecuted  in  one  city  she  fled  to  an- 
other, as  the  Savior  directed,  being  in  no  haste  to 
justify  herself,  leaving  her  vindication,  for  the  most 
part,  with  God.  She  was  able  to  do  a  great  deal 
for  the  Master  in  spite  of  continual  opposition,  be- 
ing occupied  sometimes  from  six  in  the  morning 
till  eight  at  night  with  those  who  came  to  her  for 
spiritual  help,  writing  incessantly  also,  ancl  scatter- 
ing her  productions.  She  established  a  hospital  in 
Grenoble,  and  was  at  all  times  assiduous  in  rescuing 
the  fallen  and  doing  good  to  the  needy.  In  one  of 
her  books  written  at  this  time,  called  "The  Method 
of  Prayer,"  she  rightly  says:  "No  man  can  know 
whether  he  is  wholly  consecrated  to  the  Lord  ex- 
cept by  tribulation.  That  is  the  test.  To  rejoice  in 
God's  will  when  that  will  imparts  nothing  but  hap- 
piness is  easy,  even  for  the  natural  man.    But  none 


126  Feneu>n:  The  Mystic 

but  the  religious  man  can  rejoice  in  the  Divine  will 
when  it  crosses  his  path,  disappoints  his  expecta- 
tions, and  overwhelms  him  with  sorrow.  Trial, 
therefore,  instead  of  being  shunned,  should  be  wel- 
comed as  a  test,  and  the  only  true  test  of  the  true 
state."  She  nobly  endured  this  test,  not  only  at  this 
time,  but  still  more  signally  as  the  years  went  on. 
She  arrived  again  in  Paris,  five  years  after  her  de- 
parture from  that  city,  July  22,  1686.  Here  she 
became  one  of  the  little  circle  which  met  frequently 
for  religious  and  social  purposes  at  the  Hotel  de 
Beauvilliers,  a  circle  which  included  Aladame  de 
Maintenon  and  Fenelon. 

When  Fenelon  was  in  the  province  of  Poitou,  at 
work  among  the  Huguenots  in  1686,  he  first  heard 
of  Madame  Guyon  and  became  somewhat  ac- 
quainted with  her  writings,  which  deeply  interested 
him,  as  they  were  drawn  so  largely  from  Francis  of 
Sales,  his  own  chief  teacher.  On  returning  from 
his  mission  in  1687,  he  passed  through  the  city  of 
Montargis,  and  made  there  careful  inquiries  con- 
cerning this  woman.  He  was  impressed,  says  M. 
de  Bausset,  one  of  his  biograjrhers,  "by  the  unan- 
imous testimonies  which  he  heard  of  her  piety  and 
goodness."  On  returning  to  Paris  he  met  her  for 
the  first  time  at  the  house  of  the  Duchess  of  Charost, 
a  few  miles  beyond  Versailles,  and  again  soon  after 
at  the  house  of  the  Duchess  of  Bethune,  This  was 
in  the  latter  part  of  1688,  after  her  release  from 
her  first  imprisonment.  For  her  enemies,  among 
whom  was  her  half-brother,  the' Abbe  la  Mothe,  had 


Thb  Great  Confuct.  127 

followed  her  to  Paris,  accused  her  to  Monsieur  de 
Harlai,  the  notoriously  wicked  archbishop,  and  he 
easily  obtained  from  the  king,  to  whom  it  was  rep- 
resented that  her  doctrines  were  substantially  the 
same  as  those  of  the  heretic  Molinos,  a  lettre  de 
cachet,  or  sealed  order,  putting  her  in  cenfinement, 
January  29,  1688.  She  refused  to  purchase  her  lib- 
erty by  the  sacrifice  of  her  little  daughter,  only 
twelve  years  of  age,  whom  the  king  wished  to  force 
into  a  very  unseemly  marriage  with  a  person  who 
wished  to  get  possession  of  her  large  property.  She 
refused  also  to  take  other  means  for  her  release 
which  did  not  commend  themselves  to  her  as  right. 
She  answered  them,  "I  am  content  to  suffer  what- 
ever it  pleases  God  to  order  or  permit,  but  I  would 
sooner  die  upon  the  scaffold  than  utter  the  false- 
hoods you  propose."  Whether  written  at  this  time 
or  at  some  of  her  subsequent  imprisonments,  the 
following  hymn  of  hers  so  well  represents  her  con- 
stant attitude  that  it  is  eminently  proper  to  insert 
it  here : 

"A  little  bird  I  am, 

Shut  from  the  fields  of  air ; 

And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 
To  Him  who  placed  me  there; 

Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 

Because,  my  God, -it  pleases  Thee. 

Nought  have  I  else  to  do; 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long; 
And  He,  whom  most  I  love  to  please, 

Doth  listen  to  my  song; 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  He  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 


128  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

Thou  hast  an  ear  to  hear; 

A  heart  to  love  and  bless ; 
And,  though  my  notes  were  e'er  so  rude, 

Thou  would'st  not  hear  the  less; 
Because  Thou  knowest  as  they  fall. 
That  Love,  sweet  Love,  inspires  them  all. 

My  cage  confines  me  round ; 

Abroad  I  can  not  fly; 
But,  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart's  at  liberty. 
My  prison  walls  can  not  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  souL 

O,  it  is  good  to  soar, 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 
To  Him  whose  purpose  I  adore, 

Whose  providence  I  love; 
And  in  Thy  mighty  will  to  find 
•  The  joy,  the  freedom  of  the  mind." 

Her  friends  were  not  idle,  and  finally,  by  the 
intercession  of  Madame  de  Miramion,  Madame  de 
Maisonfort,  and  the  Duchesses  Beauvilliers  and 
Chevreuse,  acting  through  Madame  de  Maintenon 
upon  the  king,  Madame  Guyon  was  released  in  Oc- 
tober, 1688.  On  being  set  free  she  took  up  her  resi- 
dence at  the  house  of  Madame  de  Miramion,  and 
resumed  her  labor  fof  souls  as  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself.  Early  in  1690  her  daughter  was  mar- 
ried to  Count  de  Vaux,  a  man  of  high  character, 
brother  of  the  Duchess  de  Bethune  and  nephew  of 
the  Duchess  de  Charost;  and  as  the  child  was 
scarcely  fourteen  she  went  to  live  with  her  a  little 


The  Grkat  Conflict.  129 

way  out  of  the  city.  Here  Fenelon  visited  fre- 
quently, and  when  she  had  once  more  returned  to 
Paris,  hiring  a  private  house  for  herself  there  in 
1692,  he  met  her  much. 

What  of  her  influence  upon  him  ?  Those  not  in 
sympathy  with  her  ideas,  by  whom  indeed  the  inner 
things  of  the  kingdom  are  pertly  dubbed  "non- 
sense," have  called  her  "the  evil  genius  of  his  life," 
and  ascribed  to  her  what  they  are  pleased  to  term 
his  ruin  and  downfall.  We  are  very  certain  that  he 
did  not  himself  regard  either  it  or  her  in  that  light. 
They  had  very  much  in  common.  There  was  the 
same  hunger  after  the  highest  religious  attainments, 
and  their  ideas  as  to  the  path  were  at  bottom  the 
same.  Fenelon  had  the  theological  training  which 
she  lacked,  and  hence  found  difficulty  with  many  of 
her  expressions,  which  seemed  to  him  objectionable 
and  liable  to  misapprehension,  as  doubtless  they 
were.  But  it  seems  altogether  probable  that  at  this 
time  she.  was  more  advanced  in  the  spiritual  life, 
more  perfectly  taught  of  God,  than  he.  Hence,  in 
the  extended  correspondence  which  took  place  be- 
tween them,  covering  a  space  of  some  two  years  or 
more,  from  its  beginning  in  November,  1688,  it  is 
usually  he  who  asks  the  questions  and  seeks  for  ex- 
planations. She  responded  with  entire  patience  and 
deep  religious  insight,  taking  all  possible  pains,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  with  so  distinguished  yet  so 
docile  a  pupil.  To  one  with  so  clear  an  intellect  and 
so    sympathetic    a    spirit    she    could    express    her 

9 


130  Fenelon:  The  Mvstic. 

thought  with  the  utmost  freedom,  and  his  enUght- 
ened,  powerful  mind,  untrammeled  by  the  preju- 
dices which  so  often  prevented — and  always  pre- 
vents— correct  perceptions,  readily  saw  the  validity 
of  her  views.  She  herself  says :  "I  was  enabled  in 
our  conversations  so  fully  to  explain  ever>'thing  to 
Fenelon  that  he  gradually  entered  into  the  views 
which  the  Lord  had  led  me  to  entertain,  and  finally 
gave  them  his  unqualified  assent.  The  persecutions 
which  he  has  since  suffered  are  the  evidence  of  the 
sincerity  of  his  belief."  If  he  was  greatly  indebted 
to  her,  as  everything  appears  to  prove — and  as 
many  other  eminent  men  have  been  to  godly  women 
— for  getting  into  a  much  closer  conformity  to  the 
will  of  God,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  was  never  will- 
ing to  unite  with  her  enemies  in  her  condemnation, 
although  every  earthly  motive  was  on  that  side. 

It  was  in  1692  that  the  acquaintance  of  Madame 
Guyon  with  Madame  de  Maintenon  became  some- 
what intimate,  so  much  so  that  she  was  often  invited 
to  the  royal  palace  at  Versailles,  and  was  introduced 
to  the  celebrated  institution  at  St,  Cyr.  Being  given 
liberty  to  visit  the  young  ladies  there,  she  talked 
with  them  on  religious  subjects,  and  speedily  ac- 
quired the  strongest  possible  influence  over  them. 
This  soon  brought  her  name  into  general  notice, 
and  excited  once  more  intense  hostility.  One  of 
her  servants  was  bribed  to  poison  her,  and  almost 
succeeded.  She  suflFered  from  the  eflfects  for  seven 
years.    It  is  at  this  time  that  Bossuet — confessedly 


The  Great  Conflict.  131 

the  leader  of  the  French  Church  by  reason  of  repu- 
tation, learning,  and  intellectual  strength — ^became 
alarmed  at  the  reports  he  heard  of  the  strange  in- 
fluence of  this  woman  in  high  quarters,  and  deter- 
mined to  put  forth  his  splendid  powers  for  the  ex- 
tinction of  what  he  deemed  a  new  heresy.  His  first 
interview  with  her  took  place  in  September,  1693, 
his  second,  January  30,  1694.  He  found  much  to 
admire  in  her  positions,  but  he  judged  by  the  head 
rather  than  the  heart,  and  was  not  fully  satisfied. 
Accordingly  she  wrote  to  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
iasking  that  a  number  of  suitable  persons  might  be 
selected  to  carefully  examine  her  doctrines  and  her 
morals;  for  her  character  as  well  as  her  teachings 
had  been  loudly  assailed,  as  is  customary  in  such 
situations.  The  king  approved  of  the  plan,  and  ap- 
pointed three  commissioners,  the  most  eminent  for 
virtues  and  talents  that  could  well  be  selected, 
which  was  a  marked  tribute  to  the  intellectual  power 
and  personal  influence  of  Madame  Guyon.  They 
were  Bossuet,  Bishop  of  Meaux;  M.  Tronson,  Su- 
perior of  the  Seminary  of  St.  Sulpice;  and  M.  de 
Noailles,  Bishop  of  Chalons,  afterwards  the  Car- 
dinal Archbishop  of  Paris.  These  persons  had 
many  meetings  in  1694  and  1695,  and  drew  up  what 
were  known  as  the  Articles  of  Issy.  Fenelon,  being 
on  terms  of  the  greatest  intimacy  with  these  three 
.  theologians,  was  in  frequent  communication  with 
them  concerning  the  matter,  and  was  often  con- 
sulted, especially  by  Bossuet,  while  the  articles  were 


132  Fenei,on:  The  Mystic 

being  framed.  When  they  were  completed  he  was 
asked  to  sign  them,  which,  after  a  few  changes  and 
the  addition  of  four  articles  which  he  deemed  es- 
sential to  prevent  misconception,  he  gladly  did. 
Even  Madame  Guy  on  gave  her  assent  to  them,  al- 
though they  bore  rather  hardly  on  some  of  her  posi- 
tions, without  mentioning  her  name,  and  were  ex- 
pressly designed  to  protect  the  public  against  her 
alleged  extravagances. 

She  was  at  this  time  in  a  sort  of  confinement  in 
the  Convent  of  St.  Mary,  in  Meaux,  under  Bossuet's 
supervision.  He  had  many  interviews  with  her,  and, 
in  a  letter  to  the  prioress  of  the  convent,  said  ex- 
pressly that  "he  had  examined  the  writings  of 
Madame  Guyon  with  great  care,  and  found  in  them 
nothing  censurable,  with  the  exception  of  some 
terms  which  were  not  wholly  conformed  to  the 
strictness  of  theology;  but  that  a  woman  was  not 
expected  to  be  a  theologian."  He  also,  at  her  de- 
sire, after  six  months'  residence,  gave  her  a  certifi- 
cate speaking  in  the  most  favorable  terms  of  her 
character  and  conduct.  But  no  sooner  was  she 
again  in  Paris  than  her  enemies  started  at  once  into 
life.  The  king  was  alarmed  lest  Quietism — a  sys- 
tem of  faith  and  practice  at  the  complete  antipodes 
from  his  own — should  gain  further  currency,  and 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  taking  her  cue  from  him,  as 
she  always  did,  ranged  herself  promptly  with  its 
enemies.  Bossuet  also,  finding  that  he  had  been 
more  lenient  toward  her  than  was  politic,  demanded 


The;  Gri^at  Conflict.  133 

back  from  Madame  Guyon  his  certificate.  This  she 
could  not  consent  to  surrender,  and  he  set  himself 
with  full  determination  to  crush  her.  December  27, 
1695,  she  was  arrested  and  incarcerated  in  the  cas- 
tle of  Vincennes,  where  she  underwent  for  nine 
months  a  very  severe  imprisonment.  She  says:  "I 
passed  my  time  in  great  peace,  content  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  my  life  there  if  such  should  be  the 
will  of  God.  I  employed  part  of  my  time  in  writ- 
ing religious  songs."  In  August,  1696,  she  was 
transferred  to  another  prison  at  Viaugiraud,  a  vil- 
lage near  Paris,  where  she  remained  till  September, 
1698,  and  was  then  immured  in  one  of  the  stern, 
dark  towers  of  the  dreaded  Bastile,  where  she  re- 
mained four  years  more  in  solitary  confinement. 
Just  previous  to  her  commitment  there  she  writes: 
"I  feel  no  anxiety  in  view  of  what  my  enemies  will 
do  to  me.  I  have  no  f*ar  of  anything  but  of  being 
left  to  myself.  So  long  as  God  is  with  me,  neither 
imprisonment  nor  death  will  have  any  terrors."  A 
little  later  she  writes :  "I,  being  in  the  Bastile,  said 
to  Thee,  O  my  God,  if  Thou  art  pleased  to  render 
me  a  spectacle  to  men  and  angels.  Thy  holy  will  be 
done.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  Thou  wilt  be  with  me 
and  save  those  who  love  Thee.  As  for  me,  what 
matters  it  what  men  think  of  me  or  what  they  make 
me  suffer,  since  they  can  not  separate  me  from  that 
Savior  whose  name  is  engraven  in  the  very  bottom 
of  my  heart.  If  I  can  only  be  accepted  of  Him,  I 
am  willing  that  all  men  should  despise  and  hate  me. 


9 


134  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

Their  strokes  will  polish  what  may  be  defective  in 
me,  so  that  I  may  be  presented  in  peace  to  Him  for 
whom  I  die  daily."    Her  language  was: 

"  In  vain  they  smite  me.     Men  but  do 
What  God  permits  with  different  view : 
To  outward  sight  they  hold  the  rod, 
But  faith  proclaims  it  all  of  God." 

And  similar  are  the  beautiful  words  of  her  hymn: 

"  My  Lord,  how  full  of  sweet  content, 
I  pass  my  years  of  banishment ! 
Where'er  I  dwell  I  dwell  with  Thee, 
In  heaven,  in  earth,  or  on  the  sea. 
To  me  remains  nor  place  nor  time : 
My  country  is  in  every  clime ; 
I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore  since  God  is  there. 

While  place  we  seek  or  place  we  shun, 
The  soul  finds  happiness  in  none ; 
But  with  a  God  to  guide  our  way, 
'T  is  equal  joy  to  go  or  stay. 
Could  I  be  cast  where  Thou  art  not, 
That  were  indeed  a  dreadful  lot; 
But  regions  none  remote  I  call, 
Secure  of  finding  God  in  alL" 

She  made  no  complaints  of  those  who  so  cruelly 
used  her.  "They,  believed  that  they  did  well,"  was 
her  only  comment  The  Spirit  of  her  Savior  was 
with  her:  "Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do."  In  her  biography,  written  later, 
she  says,  "I  entreat  all  such  persons  as  shall  read 
this  narrative  not  to  indulge  in  hard  or  embittered 


Thb  Great  Conj^i^ict.  135 

feejings  against  those  who  have  treated  me  with  un- 
kindness."  Her  sufferings  were  terrible,  but  the 
fortitude  and  resolution  with  which  she  endured 
them,  the  steadfastness  of  her  faith,  and  the  meek- 
ness of  her  bearing,  are  worthy  of  all  praise.  She 
does  not  seem  to  have  doubted  for  a  moment  the 
goodness  and  truth  of  God.  Her  theories  were  put 
to  the  severest  of  tests,  and  they  did  not  fail  her. 
It  is  marvelous  that  she  lived  to  emerge  from  the 
gloomy  walls  that  were  the  grave  of  such  numbers, 
or  that  the  tyrannical,  bigoted  king  ever  relented  so 
far  as  to  let  her  go  forth.  She  was  liberated  when 
fifty- four  years  of  age  (it  being  evident  that  she 
could  not  survive  another  year  of  imprisonment), 
reduced  to  great  feebleness,  her  constitution  utterlv 
shattered.  Yet  her  enemies  were  still  afraid  to  let 
her  stay  in  the  neighborhood  of  Paris ;  so  she  was 
banished  for  the  rest  of  her  life  to  *Blois,  one  hun- 
dred miles  away,  on  the  river  Loire.  There,  sub- 
jected to  constant  maladies  which  often  brought 
her  to  the  verge  of  death,  but  supported  by  abun- 
dant spiritual  consolations,  she  did  good  as  she  had 
opportunity  to  the  great  numbers  of  people  who 
came  to  see  her.  Her  departure  from  earth  oc- 
curred June  9,  1 71 7,  and  was  both  peaceful  and 
triumphant.  Just  before  death,  writing  to  her 
brother,  she  says,  "Whatever  may  happen,  turn  not 
your  eye  back  upon  the  world;  look  forward  and 
onward  to  the  heavenly  mansions:  be  strong  in 
faith,  fight  courageously  the  battles  of  the  Lord." 


136  Fenei^on:  The  Mystic 

Writing  to  another  friend,  and  referring  to  her 
pains,  which  she  said  were  so  great  as  to  call  into 
exercise  all  the  resources  and  aids  of  faith,  she 
adds :  "Grace  was  triumphant.  It  is  trying  to  na- 
ture, but  I  can  still  say  in  this  last  struggle  that  I 
love  the  Hand  that  smites  me."  She  said  in  her 
last  hours,  "I  rely  for  my  salvation,  not  on  any  good 
works  in  myself,  but  on  Thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 
and  on  the  merits  and  suflferings  of  my  Lord  Jesus 
Christ."  She  had  no  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  tran- 
substantiation,  read  the  Scriptures  much,  and  urged 
others  to  study  them,  insisting  constantly  upon  the 
necessity  of  a  real  sanctification  of  the  heart  by  the 
Holy  Spirit.  That  she  was  one  of  the  high  saints 
of  God,  her  soul  a  real  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
can  in  no  way  be  questioned.  It  is  also  certain  that 
she  had  great  intellectual  power,  and  in  the  main 
taught  most  important  and  sacred  truth.  It  is  easy 
to  find  fault  with  many  of  her  expressions,  but  her 
spirit  is  beyond  praise.  That  she  did  on  the  whole 
a  grand  good  work  and  will  have  a  high  place  in 
glory,  we  are  fully  convinced. 

We  come  now  to  the  great  conflict  between  Bos- 
suet  and  Fenelon.  Up  to  this  time  they  had  been 
friends,  at  least  outwardly.  But  there  are  grounds 
for  believing  that  Fenelon's  growing  and  prospect- 
ive influence  aroused  the  envy  of  the  ambitious  Bos- 
suet,  who,  no  more  than  the  king,  was  disposed  to 
brook  a  rival ;  and  the  Quietist  controversy  speedily 
took  on  a  character  which  brought  the  two  bishops 


The  Great  Conflict.  137 

into  the  most  direct  antagonism.  Bossuet  com- 
pleted, after  long  labor,  early  in  1696,  an  exceed- 
ingly able  book  against  Quietism,  entitled  "Instruc- 
tions on  the  States  of  Prayer."  He  secured  th§ 
approval  of  the  other  members  of  the  Conference 
at  Issy,  and  wished  to  append  a  favorable  testimonial 
from  Fenelon  also.  The  latter  examined  the  manu- 
script with  care,  and  was  obliged  to  withhold  his 
indorsement.  He  did  so  on  two  grounds:  He 
thought  it  contained  an  absolutely  unqualified  de- 
nial of  the  possibility  of  the  pure,  disinterested  love 
of  God ;  and  he  considered  its  censures  of  Madame 
Guyon  too  personal  and  too  severe.  He  was  per- 
fectly aware  that  the  refusal  to  comply  with  the 
wishes  of  Bossuet  would  be  a  mortal  offense  to  that 
haughty,  self-willed  prelate,  and  would  also  dis- 
please the  king,  probably  blasting  his  worldly  pros- 
pects. But  as  a  man  of  honor  and  of  true  Chris- 
tian principle  he  could  not  and  did  not  hesitate. 
Writing  to  M.  Tronson  at  this  time,  he  says,  "Am 
I  wrong  in  wishing  not  to  believe  evil  sooner  than 
can  be  helped,  and  in  refusing  to  curry  favor  by  act- 
ing against  my  conscience?"  He  declared  that  he 
would  not  attack  "a  poor  woman  who  is  trodden 
down  by  so  many,  and  whose  friend  I  have  been," 
for  the  sake  of  dispelling  suspicion  against  himself ; 
that  he  would  not  speak  against  his  conscience  or 
lecklessly  insult  a  person  whom  he  had  respected 
as  a  saint.  "It  would  be  infamous  weakness  in  me," 
he  said,  "to  speak  doubtfully  in  relation  to  her  char- 


138  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

acter  in  order  to  free  myself  from  oppression." 
Other  extracts  from  his  letters  at  this  time,  had  we 
space  to  give  them,  would  show  conclusively  the 
nigh  ground  he  took,  the  only  ground  which  his 
own  character  and  self-respect,  as  well  as  his  feel- 
ing of  gratitude  toward  the  persecuted  woman, 
could  possibly  permit.  Had  he  done  otherwise, 
wh3t  would  the  world  now  think  of  him  ? 

His  chief  friends  approved  his  course,  but  in- 
sisted that  he  must  write  his  views  in  full.  He  did 
so,  producing  his  elaborate  work  called  "The  Max- 
ims of  the  Saints,"  publisTied  in  January,  1697. 
Without  naming  Madame  Guy  on,  it  was  in  fact  her 
defense,  the  exposition  of  her  opinions  as  he  under- 
stood them,  and  as  she  had  explained  them  to  him 
in  private.  It  was  hailed  as  a  golden  work  by  Car- 
dinal de  Noailles,  M.  Tronson,  the  Bishop  of  Char- 
tres,  and  many  other  leading  men  of  France.^  But 
Bossuet  was  roused  to  fury.  "Take  your  own 
measures,"  he  said  to  these  men ;  "I  will  raise  my 
voice  to  the  heavens  against  these  errors  so  well 
known  to  you ;  I  will  complain  to  Rome,  and  to  the 
whole  earth.  It  shall  not  be  said  that  the  cause  of 
God  is  weakly  betrayed.  Though  I  should  stand 
singly  in  it,  I  will  advocate  it."  But  none  better 
knew  than  he  that  so  far  from  standing  singly  in  it 
he  had  the  warmest  possible  backing  from  the  king. 

iF6nelon,  on  sending  the  manuscript  to  the  Archbishop  of 
Paris  used  these  words  t  '  1  have  done  what  I  believed  to  be  my  duty, 
and  I  leave  the  rest  to  God.  I  do  not  care  about  my  work.  I  am  not 
even  anxious  about  truth,  God  will  care  for  it." 


The  Great  Conflict.  139 

Louis  XIV  had  no  love  for  Fenelon.  He  had  raised 
him  to  certain  dignities,  partly  because  of  his  un- 
common abilities,  and  partly  because  of  his  favor 
with  the  public,  rather  than  as  a  sign  of  any  per- 
sonal attachment.  Fenelon  was,  throughout  his  life, 
the  very  embodiment  of  all  that  Louis  did  not  like, 
and  this,  considering  Louis'  character,  was  one  of 
his  chief  glories.  The  two  men  were  so  far  apart 
in  most  things,  and  their  minds  were  so  differently 
constituted  that  there  was  no  common  bond  of  sym- 
pathy, and  the  only  wonder  is  how  they  got  along 
together  as  well  as  they  did.  Fenelon,  while  pos- 
sessing a  great  superiority  of  genius,  exhibited  also 
an  elevation  of  moral  and  personal  character  of 
which  the  king  stood  in  awe,  and  he  was  glad  that 
the  accusation  of  heresy  gave  him  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  be  rid  of  his  uncomfortable  presence. 

The  battle  was  now  on,  and  it  was  between  two 
giants.  Bossuet,  the  eagle,  was  essentially  mascu- 
line, marked  by  solidity,  vigor,  and  logic.  Fenelon, 
the  swan,  was  essentially  feminine,  filled  with  ten- 
derness, spiritual  enthusiasm,  aspiration.  Bossuet 
had  the  experience  of  age,  Fenelon  the  full  powers 
of  middle  manhood;  Bossuet  had  the  greater  skill 
in  argument,  Fenelon  the  richer  imagination.  Bos- 
suet in  style,  it  has  been  said,  reminds  one  of  the  ex- 
pansive and  philosophical  mind  of  Burke,  combined 
with  the  heavy  strength  and  dictatorial  manner  of 
Johnson.  Fenelon  had  a  large  share  of  the  luxu- 
riant imagination  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  chastened  by 


I40  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

the  refined  taste  and  classic  ease  of  Addison,  Fene- 
lon  was  naturally  mild  and  forbearing  in  disposi- 
tion, but  inflexible  in  his  principles  and  incapable  of 
being  influenced  by  pleasures  on  the  one  hand,  or 
by  threats  on  the  other;  he  was  amiable  without 
weakness,  firm  without  bitterness.  Bossuet,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  a  man  of  strong  passions,  accus- 
tomed to  ascendency,  impatient  of  opposition,  and, 
as  the  contest  went  on,  irritated  by  the  unexpected 
difficulties  he  encountered,  he  resorted  to  means 
for  the  carrying  of  his  cause  which  have  left  a  last- 
ing stain  upon  his  name.  But  Fenelon  came  forth 
from  the  ordeal,  even  as  John  Fletcher  did  in  his 
ccmtroversy  with  Toplady,  elevated  all  the  higher 
in  the  admiration  of  mankind.  Bossuet,  in  the 
course  of  the  contest,  referring  to  one  of  Fenelon's 
publications,  made  the  following  remark:  "His 
friends  say  everywhere  that  his  reply  is  a  triumphant 
work,  and  that  he  has  great  advantages  in  it  over 
me.  We  shall  see  hereafter  whether  it  is  so."  Fene- 
lon thereupon  addressed  a  letter  to  Bossuet  in  the 
following  terms :  "May  heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
strive  for  victory  over  any  person,  least  of  all  over 
you.  It  is  not  man's  victory,  but  God's  glory  which 
I  seek;  and  happy,  thrice  happy  shall  I  be  if  that 
object  is  secured,  though  it  should  be  attended  with 
my  confusion  and  with  your  triumph.  There  is  no 
occasion,  therefore,  to  say,  'We  shall  see  who  will 
have  the  advantage.'  I  am  ready  now,  without 
waiting  for  future  developments,  to  acknowledge 


The  Great  Confi^ict.  141 

that  you  are  my  superior  in  science,  in  genius,  in 
everything  that  usually  commands  attention.  And 
in  respect  to  the  controversy  between  us,  there  is 
nothing  which  I  wish  more  than  to  be  vanquished 
by  you  if  the  positions  which  I  take  are  wrong. 
Two  things  only  do  I  desire — truth  and  peace; 
truth  which  may  enlighten,  and  peace  which  ftay 
unite  us." 

The  two  combatants  put  forth  all  their  strength, 
and  the  conflict  attracted  the  eyes  of  all  Europe. 
Book  followed  book  in  close  and  quick  succession 
on  both  sides.  Each  of  the  antagonists  showed  a 
thorough  mastery  of  the  subject,  and  exerted  him- 
self to  the  utmost,  stimulated  by  the  importance  of 
the  struggle  and  the  large  issues  at  stake,  not  only 
of  a  personal  nature  but  of  a  general  character.  The 
whole  Christian  world  looked  on  with  deep  interest. 

The  chief  doctrine  that  Fenelon  set  himself  to 
defend  is  summarized  by  Upham  in  the  following 
three  propositions:  "First,  the  provisions  of  the 
Gospel  are  such  that  men  may  gain  the  entire  vic- 
tory over  their  sinful  propensities,  and  may  live  in 
constant  and  accepted  communion  with  God;  sec- 
ond, persons  are  in  this  state  when  they  love  God 
with  all  their  heart;  in  other  words,  with  pure  or 
unselfish  love;  third,  there  have  been  instances  of 
Christians,  though  probably  few  in  number,  who,  so 
far  as  can  be  decided  by  man's  imperfect  judgment, 
have  reached  this  state,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  all,  en- 
couraged by  the  ample  provision  which  is  made,  to 


142  Fenulon:  The  Mystic. 

strive  to  attain  to  it."  But  the  main  issue  was 
speedily  confused  with  an  abundance  of  side  ques- 
tions, particular  sentences  and  parts  of  sentences 
being  picked  out  for  attack,  much  space  being  taken, 
as  in  all  such  cases,  with  merely  verbal  criticisms 
founded  on  misconceptions  or  on  the  necessary  im- 
peftection  of  language.  The  celebrated  Leibnitz 
remarked  that,  before  the  war  of  words  between 
Bossuet  and  Fenelon  began,  the  prelates  should 
have  agreed  on  a  definition  of  the  word  love,  and 
that  such  a  definition  might  have  prevented  the  dis- 
pute. The  worst  thing  was  that  Bossuet,  driven  to 
extremities  by  the  trouble  he  found  in  making  head- 
way theologically  and  fearing  defeat,  descended  to 
a  personal  attack  on  Fenelon's  character,  insinuat- 
ing things  which  he  had  not  the  audacity  to  state 
plainly  or  the  facts  to  substantiate.  This,  of  course, 
reacted.  For  Fenelon — against  his  own  wishes,  but 
being  shown  the  necessity  of  it  by  his  friends — 
wrote  a  marvelous  reply,  of  which  Charles  Butler, 
one  of  his  biographers,  and  by  no  means  a  partisan 
one,  says :  "A  nobler  elusion  of  the  indignation  oE 
insulted  virtue  and  genius,  eloquence  has  never  pro- 
duced. In  the  very  first  lines  of  it  Fenelon  placed 
himself  above  his  antagonist,  and  to  the  last  pre- 
serves his  elevation.  Never  did  genius  and  virtue 
obtain  a  more  complete  triumph.  Fenelon's  reply, 
by  a  kind  of  enchantment,  restored  to  him  every 
heart.  Crushed  by  the  strong  arm  of  power,  aban- 
doned by  the  multitude,  there  was  nothing  to  which 


The  Gre;at  Confuct.  143 

he  could  look  but  his  own  powers.  Obliged  to  fight 
for  his  honor,  it  was  necessary  for  him,  if  he  did 
not  consent  to  sink  under  the  accusation,  to  assume 
a  port  still  more  imposing  than  that  of  his  mighty 
antagonist.  Much  had  been  expected  from  him ;  but 
none  supposed  that  he  would  raise  himself  to  so 
prodigious  a  height  as  would  not  only  repel  the  at- 
tack of  his  antagonist  but  entirely  reduce  him  to 
the  defensive." 

It  was  seen  at  an  early  period  of  the  controversy 
that  there  was  no  probability  of  its  being  settled  by 
any  tribunal  short  of  that  of  the  pope  himself. 
Fenelon,  seeing  the  unscrupulous,  powerful  forces 
that  were  arrayed  against  him  in  Paris,  applied  to 
the  king  in  July,  1697,  ^^^  permission  to  go  to 
Rome  under  any  restrictions  His  Majesty  might 
think  appropriate.  This  the  monarch  absolutely  re- 
fused, knowing  well,  no  doubt,  that  the  personal 
charm  of  the  saintly  disputant  would  be  likely  to 
carry  everything  before  it.  He  would  only  permit 
him  to  send  agents  there  to  act  in  his  behalf.  Fene- 
lon himself  he  curtly  ordered  to  proceed  immediately 
to  his  diocese,  to  remain  there,  and  not  to  stop  in 
Paris  on  the  way  any  longer  than  his  affairs  made 
his  stay  absolutely  necessary.  Fenelon  received  this 
undeserved  sentencf  of  banishment,  very  roughly 
couched,  with  his  customary  calmness  and  submis- 
sion. In  passing  through  the  city  he  stopped  before 
the  seminary  of  St.  Sulpice,  where  he  had  spent  so 
many  happy  hours,  and  which  he  was  never  to  see 


144  Fenbi^on:  The  Mystic. 

again ;  but  he  forbore  from  entering  the  house  lest 
his  showing  a  regard  for  it  might  expose  its  inhab 
itants  to  His  Majesty's  displeasure.  The  king,  with 
his  own  hands,  some  time  after  this,  crossed  off 
Fenelon's  name  from  the  list  of  court  officials,  and 
also  dismissed  from  service  every  one  connected 
with  him,  save  only  the  Abbe  Fleury,  who,  though  a 
devoted  friend  of  the  archbishop,  had  never  taken 
any  part  in  the  exciting  topics  of  the  day.  But  the 
rest  who  had  been  employed  about  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy for  nine  years,  not  blamelessly  alone  but  how 
successfully  his  altered  character  and  advanced  edu- 
cation could  show,  were  rudely  sent  off  without  any 
acknowledgment  whatever  of  their  valuable  serv- 
ices, without  even  a  civil  word  or  a  penny  of  re- 
ward. 

And  how  went  matters  at  Rome  ?  The  Abbe  de 
Chanterac,  an  intimate  friend  and  relation,  of  high- 
est probity  and  piety,  was  Fenelon's  agent  there. 
The  Abbe  Bossuet,  a  nephew  of  the  bishop,  a  vulgar, 
blustering,  unscrupulous  fellow,  with  a  most  violent, 
intemperate  spirit,  fitly  represented  the  interests  of 
his  uncle.  The  pope,  Innocent  XII,  a  man  of  a 
benevolent  and  equitable  temper,  found  his  position 
a  very  difficult  one,  somewhat  similar  to  that  of 
Pilate  at  the  trial  of  Jesus.  His  sympathies  were 
wholly  with  Fenelon,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he 
would  gladly  have  given  a  verdict  in  his  favor,  or 
dismissed  the  whole  matter,  could  he  have  done  so 
without  mortally  offending  the.  king.     He  had  at 


The  Great  Confuct.  145 

first  hoped  that  the  business  might  be  settled  in 
France  by  mild  and  conciliatory  measures,  and  had 
expressed  this  wish  to  Louis ;  but  the  suggestion 
was  entirely  unavailing.  So  he  was  obliged  to  take 
up  the  very  unpleasant  task.  He  appointed  a  com- 
mission of  ten  persons  called  "Consulters"  to  give  a 
thorough  examination  of  Fenelon's  books.  But 
after  sixty-four  successive  and  protracted  sittings 
of  six  or  seven  hours  each,  at  many  of  which  the 
pope  himself  assisted,  they  found  themselves  so 
evenly  divided  in  relation  to  it  that  no  satisfactory 
result  could  reasonably  be  expected  from  the  con- 
tinuance of  their  deliberations.  The  pope  accord- 
ingly selected  a  commission  of  cardinals  to  pro- 
nounce upon  the  matter;  but  after  twelve  sittings 
they  were  unable  to  come  to  any  conclusion,  and 
were  dissolved.  Next  a  new  congregation  of  cardi- 
nals were  selected,  and  met  in  consultation  no  less 
than  fifty-two  times  without  getting  on  very  far. 
The  long  delays  and  the  hesitation  shown  at  Rome 
to  condemn  Fenelon  were  utterly  unexpected  by 
either  Bossuet  or  the  king,  and  made  them  furious. 
Constantly  increasing  pressure  was  brought  to  bear 
from  Paris  to  secure  the  result  pleasing  to  the  mon- 
arch. 

At  the  very  beginning,  in  July,  1697,  the  king, 
by  Bossuet's  instigation,  wrote  an  urgent  letter  to 
the  pope  calling  upon  him  speedily  to  condemn 
Fenelon's  book.  Missive  after  missive  of  similar 
purport  went  forward,  and  all  the  arts  of  diplomacy, 
10 


146  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

all  the  influences  which  Louis  could  in  any  way 
exert,  were  unblushingly  employed  for  Fenelon's 
overthrow.  Affairs  at  Rome,  indeed,  before  long 
involved  themselves  into  a  perfect  tangle  of  chican- 
ery and  intrigue,  cardinal  against  cardinal,  ambas- 
sador against  ambassador.  Other  courts  besides 
that  of  France  took  a  hand.  The  imperial  ambas- 
sador worked  hard  for  Fenelon;  the  Spanish  min- 
ister was  zealous  on  the  other  side;  and  a  smaller 
potentate,  Cosmo,  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  a  dab- 
bler in  theology,  threw  his  weight  in  the  latter  di- 
rection. The  poor  pope  was  violently  pulled,  now 
this  way,  now  that.  He  greatly  liked  Fenelon,  ad- 
miring his  beautiful  spirit  and  appreciating  his 
loyal  attachment  to  the  Holy  See.  He  resented 
the  disgraceful  attempt  to  browbeat  him  on  the 
part  of  the  desperate  king  and  the  Bishop  of  Meaux, 
a  pragmatical,  pugnacious  bully.  He  could  scarcely 
see  any  way  of  censuring  any  of  Fenelon's  proposi- 
tions without  censuring  also  other  writers  of  the 
same  sort,  like  St.  Bernard  and  St.  Francis  of  Sales, 
whom  the  Church  had  delighted  to  honor.  It  seemed 
to  him  also,  as  was  indeed  the  case,  almost  if  not 
quite  wholly  a  dispute  about  words.  As  to  a  habit- 
ual state  of  disinterested  Divine  love,  the  attainment 
of  which  was  said  to  be  inculcated  in  Fenelon's 
writings,  Fenelon  himself  uniformly  declared  his 
opinion  that  a  permanent  state  of  Divine  love,  with- 
out hope  and  without  fear,  was  above  the  lot  of  man. 
And  Bossuet  himself  allowed  that  there  might  be 


The  Great  CoNifLicT.  147 

moments  when  the  soul,  dedicated  to  the  love  of 
God,  would  be  lost  in  heavenly  contemplation,  and 
then  love  and  adore  without  being"  influenced  by 
either  hope  or  fear,  or  being  sensible  of  either. 
Their  real  ground  of  difference  was,  after  all,  very 
small,  and  there  was  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides. 
And,  under  all  these  circumstances,  it  is  scarcely 
surprising  that  it  took  so  long  to  reach  a  decision. 

It  was  postponed  from  month  to  month  in  the 
hope  that  some  chance — the  death  of  the  king  or  of 
Bossuet — might  relieve  the  pressure,  and  allow  the 
papal  conscience  its  rights  as  against  the  papal 
policy.  As  late  as  the  autumn  of  1698,  a  whole 
year  after  the  conference  of  the  ten  "Consulters" 
began,  five  of  them  persisted,  in  defiance  of  every 
pressure  that  could  be  brought  to  bear  upon  them, 
in  pronouncing  the  book  to  be  absolutely  orthodox, 
and  so  proceedings  had  to  be  begun  again.  The  real 
issue  of  the  struggle  had  probably  never  been  doubt- 
ful in  case  the  French  court  insisted.  For,  as  the 
cardinals  said:  "It  will  not  do  to  fire  great  guns 
at  the  king.  Rome's  wisest  course  demands  of  her 
to  yield  to  him  whatever  may  be  yielded  without 
wounding  the  first  principles  of  religion."  It  is  ab- 
solutely certain  that,  but  for  this  unseemly  influence, 
the  decision  would  have  been  in  Fenelon's  favor. 
As  it  was,  the  pope  and  his  advisers  struggled  hard 
to  wriggle  out  of  their  dilemma  with  as  little  vio- 
lence to  their  feelings  and  their  honor  as  they  could. 
After  it  was  settled  that  they  must  in  some  way 


148  Feneu)n:  The  Mystic. 

give  the  decision  as  the  king  so  imperatively  de- 
manded, there  were  a  great  many  meetings  of  the 
Conclave  to  decide  on  the  precise  form  it  should 
take.  This  required  months  of  wrangling  and  de- 
bate. It  was  at  first  intended  to  issue  a  simple  brief, 
distinctly  affirming  that  His  Holiness  did  not 
intend  to  condemn  the  author's  explanations  of  his 
book,  but  giving  some  general  disapproval  of  cer- 
tain inferences  drawn  from  it,  and  asserting  the 
Church's  true  doctrine  as  opposed  to  the  Ouietists, 
without  casting  any  blame  on  the  Archbishop  of 
Cambrai.  This  would  have  been  done  had  not  Bos- 
suet's  agents  at  Rome,  assisted  by  the  Cardinal  Cas- 
sanata,  a  man  of  most  imperious  will  and  overbear- 
ing temper,  exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost,  for- 
tified by  fresh  letters  from  the  king  dictated  by  Bos- 
suet,  insisting,  with  hardly  veiled  threats  of  the 
direful  consequences  that  would  ensue  from  diso- 
bedience, that  the  decision  be  "clear,  precise,  capable 
of  no  misinterpretation,  such  as  is  necessary  to  re- 
move all  doubt  with  regard  to  doctrine  and  eradicate 
the  very  root  of  the  evil."  Thus  badgered  and 
driven  and  terrified,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to 
do  but  submit;  so  at  length,  on  the  12th  of  March, 
the  whole  Sacred  College  was  assembled  at  the 
palace  of  Monte  Cavallo,  where  the  decree  was  ac- 
cepted by  the  whole  body  of  cardinals,  signed  by 
the  pope  in  their  presence,  and  immediately  posted 
in  all  the  principal  public  places  of  Rome. 

The  book  itself,  strictly  speaking,  was  not  con- 


The  GRi;AT  Conduct.  149 

demned,  but  only  twenty-three  propositions  which 
purported  to  be  extracted  from  it.  The  pope  took 
pains  to  say,  and  to  have  it  clearly  understood,  that 
they  were  condemned,  not  in  the  sense  which  they 
might  bear  or  in  the  sense  in  which  they  were  ex- 
plained by  Fenelon  himself.  The  propositions  were 
said  to  be  condemned  because,  not  being  worded  in 
conformity  with  the  author's  real  intentions,  they 
might  insensibly  lead  the  faithful  to  errors  already 
condemned  by  the  Catholic  Church;  because  they 
contained  words  which,  in  the  sense  that  more  im- 
mediately presented  itself  were  rash,  ill-sounding, 
offensive  to  pious  ears,  and  erroneous.  The  cardi- 
nals refused  to  associate  the  name  of  heretic,  or  of 
anything  resembling  heresy,  with  Fenelon — his 
name,  indeed,  was  not  once  mentioned  in  the  brief 
— and  they  absolutely  rejected  the  usual  appendage 
to  a  brief  of  condemnation,  an  order  for  the  book 
to  be  burned.  Very  little  was  really  decided.  The 
words  were  very  gentle,  and  in  important  ways  non- 
committal. Disinterestedness  in  the  larger  sense 
was  neither  asserted  nor  denied;  all  that  was  done 
was  to  prune  Fenelon's  system  of  what  might  be 
considered  its  extravagances.  In  pronouncing,  on 
the  whole,  against  the  "Maxims,"  Rome  had  not 
really  declared  for  Bossuet.  Fenelon  could  lawfulh 
tell  his  friends  that  disinterestedness  was  not  con- 
demned, but  only  its  exaggerated  statement ;  self- 
interest  had  not  been  made  an  essential  condition 
of  our  love  of  God, — it  was  still  possible  to  love 


I50  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

Him  for  Himself,  provided  that  hope  and  desire  of 
heaven  were  not  habitually  of  set  purpose  excluded. 
All  this  soothed  the  sorrows  of  the  friends  of  Fene- 
lon's,  as  it  was  designed  to  do,  and  considerably 
mortified  his  enemies,  which  mortification  was  in- 
creased by  a  bon  mot  of  the  pope,  which  was  soon 
in  every  mouth,  that  "Fenelon  was  in  fault  for  too 
great  love  of  God ;  and  his  enemies  equally  in  fault 
for  too  little  love  of  their  neighbor."  The  pope, 
indeed,  had  repeatedly  called  Fenelon  "a  very  great 
archbishop,  most  pious,  most  holy,  most  learned ;" 
and  he  gave  to  the  Abbe  de  Chanterac  every  indica- 
tion of  the  extreme  reluctance  with  which  he  moved 
in  the  matter. 

It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  very  barren  victory  for 
Bossuet;  but  he  accepted  it  rather  than  run  any 
further  risk  in  the  long-drawn-out  contest,  of  which 
all  parties  were  thoroughly  weary.  It  had  cost  him 
dear  in  both  reputation  and  character.  No  one  now, 
however  small  his  admiration  for  Fenelon,  attempts 
to  defend  the  steps  which  Bossuet  took  or  the  dis- 
honorable means  to  which  in  his  desperation  he  re- 
sorted to  conipass  his  end.  He  contended  not  law- 
fully, and  deserves  no  crown.  He  showed  an  irri- 
tation, rancor,  bitterness,  and  malignity  most  lam- 
entable; used  invective,  artifice,  and  garbled  quota- 
tions ;  sullied  himself  forever  by  the  course  he  took. 
With  brutal  irony  and  savage  harshness  he  hec- 
tored, threatened,  plotted,  violated  confidences,  and 
made  accusations  as  base  as  they  were  reckless.    He 


The  Gre;at  Conflict.  151 

used  without  scruple  secret  writings  which  he  had 
received  from  Madame  Guyon,  private  letters  writ- 
ten to  him  by  Fenelon  during  their  early  intimacy, 
and  a  letter  which,  under  the  seal  of  friendship, 
Fenelon  had  written  to  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
and  which  in  this  trying  hour  she  unfeelingly  com- 
municated to  Bossuet,  having  entirely  changed  in 
her  attitude  toward  him  since  the  king's  animosity 
was  evident.  Bossuet's  personal  charges  against 
his  amiable  and  estimable  adversary,  not  believed 
by  any  one,  showed  the  innate  smallness  of  his  na- 
ture, the  desperate  strait  to  which  he  was  driven, 
and  the  degree  to  which  he  had  let  jealousy  and 
rivalry  of  one  greater  than  he  take  possession  of 
his  bosom.  That  he  himself  was  of  plebeian  birth 
— a  bar  which  kept  him  from  the  goal  of  his  ambi- 
tion in  the  cardinalate — while  Fenelon  was  of  the 
patricians,  had  doubtless  something  to  do  with  it. 
He  squandered  his  waning  powers  on  a  controversy 
which  added  no  luster  to  his  reputation,  and  brought 
him  no  nearer  to  the  summit  of  his  desires.  Too 
late  he  realized  that  it  was  impossible  to  ruin  such  a 
man  as  Fenelon  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  learned 
to  love  him.  He  might  be  banished  from  the  Vati- 
can and  from  Versailles,  silenced  by  the  pope,  and 
disgraced  by  the  king,  but  he  was  cherished  none 
the  less  in  the  hearts  of  the  devout,  idolized  and 
adored  as  an  oracle  of  piety  and  virtue. 

Fenelon  was  not  once  betrayed  into  abuse  or 
blander  throughout  the  struggle  in  which  he  had  so 


152  Fenelon:   The;   Mystic. 

much  at  stake.  No  unkind  word  respecting  any  of 
his  persecutors  escaped  him.  He  continually  ex- 
hibited wonderful  gentleness  and  dignity,  elevated 
self-respect,  the  urbanity  of  a  refined  gentleman. 
and  the  grace  of  an  exalted  Christian.  His  style 
was  forcible  and  effective,  but  with  no  mixture  of 
sarcasm.  Posterity  has  done  him  justice;  has  af- 
firmed that  throughout  this  contest  no  stain  rests 
upon  his  moral  character,  and  that  he  was  absolutely 
sincere  when  he  said,  "I  ask  God  to  grant  M.  de 
Meaux  as  many  blessings  as  he  has  heaped  crosses 
upon  me;"  curses,  he  might  have  said.  All  this 
while  his  enemies  were  using  every  means  "to  hunt 
him  down  like  a  wild  beast ;"  this  was  the  expression 
they  used.  "Never  once,"  says  a  person  who  has 
thoroughly  examined  the  entire  correspondence,  "in 
the  mass  of  letters  that  Fenelon  sent  to  his  confi- 
dential agent  at  Rome,  do  we  come  across  a  mean 
or  unjust  expression ;  there  is  not  one  letter  that 
one  feels  inclined  to  wish  had  not  been  kept  for 
the  sake  of  the  writer."  As  attack  after  attack  de- 
scends upon  him,  intended  to  humiliate  and  crush, 
he  rises  above  it,  greater  and  nobler,  more  faithful 
in  following  his  Master's  footsteps  than  ever.  He 
continually  implored  the  pope  to  stop  the  endless 
war  of  pamphlets  which  was  doing  so  much  harm 
to  the  cause  of  religion  and  the  Church.  It  was 
with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  he  was  forced  into 
the  fight.  Under  the  grossest  of  libels  he  would 
have  remained  silent  had  his  friends  consented.  But 


Thb  Grbat  CoNFLiei*.  153 

he  was  compelled  by  the  actions  of  his  adversaries 
to  speak  out  sometimes  with  great  vigor.  And  he 
had  to  obey  the  voice  of  his  conscience  and  the  dic- 
tates of  chivalry,  being  thoroughly  indignant  at  the 
unjust  treatment  accorded  to  his  friend,  Madame 
Guyon.  His  grief  at  the  rupture  of  the  bond  be- 
tween him  and  Bossuet  was  deep  and  sincere.  He 
wrote,  "God  alone  knows  what  pain  it  is  to  me  to 
give  pain  to  one  for  whom,  in  all  the  world,  I  have 
the  most  attachment  and  respect."  He  wrote  this 
even  when  he  was  defending  himself  from  the  most 
virulent  attacks ;  and  he  would  not  have  called  God 
to  witness  to  a  profession  that  was  not  absolutely 
true.  By  his  candor  and  simplicity,  his  openness 
and  gentleness,  the  beauty  of  his  genius,  and  the 
reputation  of  his  virtue,  he  commanded  the  widest 
possible  respect  from  all  who  were  capable  of  ap- 
preciating these  things.  His  challenge  to  his  ma- 
ligners  rang  out  without  ambiguity:  "I  fear  noth- 
ing, thank  God,  that  will  be  communicated  and  ex- 
amined judicially.  I  fear  nothing  but  vague  report 
and  unexamined  allegation." 

Fenelon,  when  the  decision  at  Rome  was  com- 
municated to  him,  acted  as  his  friends  had  expected, 
although  some  of  them  had  hardly  dared  hope  that 
even  he  could  rise  so  magnificently  to  the  occasion. 
He  accepted,  simply,  sincerely,  sweetly,  with  no 
reservation  or  concealment  or  half-heartedness, 
what  he  regarded  as,  under  the  circumstances,  the 
voice  of  God.    His  brother,  the  Compte  de  Fenelon, 


154  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

heard  the  tidings  first  in  Paris,  and  started  instantly 
for  Cambrai,  thinking  that  the  reception  of  the  news 
through  a  kindly  channel  might  at  least  lighten 
somewhat  the  blow.  He  arrived  on  the  Festival  of 
the  Annunciation,  just  as  the  archbishop  was  about 
to  preach  in  the  cathedral.  However  keenly  he  felt 
the  blow — and  he  was,  of  course,  human — he  was 
not  disconcerted,  or  cast  down,  or  perplexed.  Paus- 
ing a  little  to  arrange  his  thoughts,  he  threw  aside 
his  intended  sermon,  and  preached  on  the  duty  of 
absolute  submission  to  authority.  The  congrega- 
tion, among  whom  the  news  was  already  whispered, 
was  most  profoundly  impressed  with  the  calm  dig- 
nity, the  noble  simplicity  of  their  beloved  chief  pas- 
tor; and  the  eyes  of  most  overflowed  with  tears  of 
admiration,  affection,  grief,  and  respect  as  they 
listened  to  his  heartfelt  words. 

He  was  not  a  little  harassed,  as  the  days  went 
on,  by  some  zealous,  well-meaning  folk,  who  feared 
that  he  might  not  do  the  best  thing,  and  wrote  him 
long  exhortations  to  submit,  telling  him  of  the  glory 
he  would  find  in  such  humiliation  and  the  heroism 
he  would  achieve.  He  wrote  to  Beauvilliers :  "All 
this  wearies  me  somewhat ;  and  I  am  disposed  to 
say  to  myself.  What  have  I  done  to  all  these  people 
that  they  think  I  shall  find  it  so  difficult  to  prefer 
the  authority  of  the  Holy  See  to  my  own  dim 
knowledge,  or  the  peace  of  the  Church  to  my  own 
book  ?  However,  I  am  well  aware  they  are  right  in 
attributing  large   imperfections  to  me   zmd  much 


The  Gre;at  Conflict.  155 

shrinking  from  an  act  of  humiliation;  therefore  I 
can  easily  forgive  them."  He  wrote:  "Doubtless 
it  costs  one  something  to  humble  one's  self ;  but  the 
least  resistance  to  the  Holy  See  would  cost  me  a 
hundred-fold  more,  and  I  must  confess  that  I  can 
see  no  room  for  hesitation  in  the  matter.  One  may 
suffer,  but  one  can  not  have  a  moment's  doubt." 
He  also  said :  "Amid  these  troubles  I  have  the  com- 
fort, little  appreciated  by  the  world,  but  very  satis- 
factory to  those  who  seek  God  heartily,  namely,  that 
my  course  is  clear,  and  I  have  nothing  to  hesitate 
about." 

His  enemies  sought  in  vain  to  find  a  flaw  in  his 
submission.  One  of  his  followers  wrote:  "Your 
conduct  is  a  living  exemplification  of  the  maxims 
of  the  saints;"  as  indeed  it  w^as.  The  dignified 
humility  with  which  he  met  misfortune  gave  him 
added  reputation.  He  sent  out  a  pastoral  letter, 
short  and  affecting,  which  comforted  his  friends 
and  afflicted  his  enemies,  falsifying  every  predic- 
tion which  they  had  made  of  the  nice  subtleties  and 
distinctions  with  which  he  would  seek  to  disguise 
his  defeat.  His  letters  at  this  time  breathed  in  all 
cases  the  most  amiable  spirit  of  peace  and  resigna- 
tion. But  in  general  he  declined  all  writing  and 
discourse  on  the  subject,  and  at  an  early  moment 
dismissed  the  controversy  as  far  as  possible  from 
his  thoughts.  The  Bishop  of  Chartres  wrote  to 
Fenelon  that  he  was  delighted  with  his  perfect  sub- 
mission :  "I  have  no  words  to  express  how  my  heart 


156  Fenelon:  Ths  Mystic. 

is  affected  with  your  humble  and  generous  action." 
The  pope  wrote  most  kindly,  and  all  the  cardinals, 
except  Cassanata,  sent  messages  to  Fenelon  by  the 
Abbe  de  Chanterac,  conveying  their  respect  and 
attachment.  "It  is  impossible^"  wrote  the  abbe,  "to 
praise  more  than  they  did  your  submission,  your 
pastoral  letter,  your  letters  to  the  pope,  and  the 
whole  of  your  conduct."  As  one  eminent  person 
wrote  from  Rome,  "He  was  more  glorious  than  if 
he  had  never  been  condemned."  The  Chancellor 
d'Aguesseau  writes  that  Fenelon's  submission  made 
him  the  hero  of  the  day.  "It  stands  the  solitary  ex- 
ample in  history  of  a  controversy  upon  a  point  of 
such  moment  which  one  single  sentence  terminated 
at  the  instant,  without  its  reproduction  in  any  other 
form,  without  any.  attempt  to  reverse  it  by  power 
or  elude  it  by  distinctions.  The  glory  of  it  is  due 
to  Fenelon,  who  was  able  to  see  that  a  very  great 
desire  to  justify  one's  self  often  does  more  harm 
than  good,  and  that  the  surest  way  to  obliterate 
wrongs  unjustly  imputed  is  to  let  them  be  forgotten 
and  die  out  in  silence." 

Fenelon  said,  "In  all  this,  so  far  from  referring 
it  to  my  opponents,  I  see  no  human  agent;  I  see 
God  only,  and  I  am  content  to  accept  what  He 
does."  "In  the  name  of  God,"  he  writes  to  a  friend, 
"speak  to  me  only  of  God,  and  leave  men  to  judge 
of  me  as  they  like.  As  for  me,  I  shall  seek  only 
peace  and  silence."  He  had  no  resentment  toward 
any  one;  but  he  steadily  refused,  with  proper  dig- 


Th5  Griiat  Conduct.  157 

nity  and  uncompromising  adherence  to  the  right,  to 
utter  one  syllable  which  could  be  perverted  into  a 
semblance  of  retraction.  He  said  that  since  the 
head  of  the  Church,  with  its  superior  light  and 
authority,  had  so  judged,  he  must  believe  himself  to 
have  insufficiently  explained  his  meaning,  but  he 
declared,  in  justice  to  himself,  that  he  never  under- 
stood the  text,  or  supposed  any  one  else  could  un- 
derstand it,  save  in  the  sole  sense  which  he  had 
himself  assigned  to  it.  While  ready  at  all  times  to 
meet  his  opponents  in  the  humblest  and  most  peace- 
ful spirit,  as  he  declared,  he  declined  to  enter  into 
any  negotiations  that  would  imply  a  yielding  of 
what  concerned  his  conscience  or  his  sense  of  truth 
in  order  to  win  them.  He  ceased  to  write  and  con- 
verse upon  the  subject  from  this  time.  But  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duties  among  his  own  people  and 
in  his  correspondence,  he  never  ceased  to  inculcate 
the  doctrine  of  pure  love.  He  thought  it  his  duty 
to  avoid  certain  forms  of  expression,  and  certain 
illustrations  which  had  been  specifically  condemned 
in  the  Papal  Decree,  and  which  were  liable  to  be 
misconceived,  but  he  went  no  further.  How  could 
he?  Nor  do  we  find  that  room  to  wonder,  which 
some  have  done,  at  the  heartiness  and  promptness  of 
his  submission  to  what  he  doubtless  felt  was,  from 
a  human  point  of  view,  unjust.  He  refused  to  con- 
fine himself  to  the  human  point  of  view.  He  held, 
with  General  Charles  George  Gordon,  and  many 
others  in  our  own  day,  that,  however  we  may  rightly 


158  Fenelon  :  The  Mystic. 

struggle  to  alter  events  while  they  are  in  the  process 
of  formation,  when  once  they  have  come  to  pass 
they  register  a  decree  of  the  Almighty,  and  any  re- 
luctance to  receive  them  is  rebellion  against  Him, 
something  not  to  be  thought  of  by  a  truly  loyal 
heart.  This  theory  and  practice  made  earth  to  him 
very  heavenly,  and  life  a  triumphant  march. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  GOOD  ARCHBISHOP. 

It  is  now  our  privilege  to  bid  farewell  to  the 
noise  of  battle,  and  look  at  the  good  archbishop  in 
the  peaceful  retirement  of  his  great  diocese,  where, 
as  all  admit,  his  episcopal  duties  were  perfectly  per- 
formed. Even  the  most  captious  carpers  and  cavil- 
ers  at  Fenelon,  who  can  see  little  or  no  good  in  any 
other  part  of  his  life  and  try  hard  to  find  some  un- 
worthy motive  at  the  bottom  of  the  acts  that  seem 
so  fair,  are  sore  put  to  it,  when  they  come  to  this 
portion,  to  withhold  a  meed  of  hearty  praise.  They 
are  forced  to  admit  that  his  misfortunes  have  helped 
his  character,  and  that  he  shines  forth  with  a  luster 
rarely,  if  ever,  equaled.  What  he  would  have  be- 
come spiritually  had  the  world  continued  to  smile 
upon  him  is,  of  course,  unknown.  Had  Louis  XIV 
died  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  come  to  the  throne, 
Fenelon  would  undoubtedly  have  reached  the  car- 
dinalate  for  which  his  birth  and  abilities  so  well 
fitted  him,  and  might  even  have  gone  higher.  But 
it  is  not  likely  that,  in  the  vitiated  atmosphere  of 
the  court,  and  surrounded  by  the  temptations  in- 
evitably awaiting  on  unclouded  success,  his  char- 
acter could  have  developed  as  it  did  in  affliction. 
159 


i6o  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

Some  measure  of  adversity  seems  to  be  essential 
to  bring  out  the  best  there  is  in  us.  His  career  has 
been  called  by  some  superficial  observers  "a  splen- 
did failure,"  but  the  words  have  no  meaning  except 
in  the  sense  in  which  they  might  be  used  of  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  and  a  multitude  of  others  who  have 
stood  for  the  highest  ideals  and  have  died  nobly 
fighting  against  wrong.  Fenelon  did  not  falter  in 
his  course;  he  obeyed  at  eve  "the  voice  obeyed  at 
prime;"  he  held  to  the  end  the  supreme  purpose 
which  had  inspired  his  earliest  reflections.  But 
his  years  of  exile,  spent  in  the  single-hearted  serv- 
ice of  his  people,  are  a  more  impressive  and  edifying 
conclusion  to  a  life  begun  under  the  auspices  of  St. 
Sulpice  than  if  they  had  been  attended  with  all  the 
glories  of  the  papal  court.  His  reverses  of  fortune 
gave  him  an  admirable  opportunity,  magnificently 
improved,  to  show  that  his  high  theories  of  resigna- 
tion and  self-surrender,  and  a  serene  acceptance  of 
everything  from  God's  hand,  could  work  well  in 
practice.  Under  the  stress  of  his  troubles  he  gained 
new  depth  and  breadth  of  piety,  new  self-reliance 
and  self-control,  larger  tranquillity,  a  more  thor- 
oughly compacted  character. 

Cambrai,  to  whicl^  he  was  banished  in  1697,  and 
where  he  spent  the  last  eighteen  years  of  his  life, 
was  a  town  of  no  great  size  or  beauty,  on  the  river 
Scheldt,  in  the  extreme  north,  near  the  Flemish 
frontier.  It  was  the  ecclesiastical  center  of  the 
Flemish  provinces  which  were  conquered  during  the 


Th^  Good  Archbishop.  i6i 

early  half  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  and  confirmed 
to  France  by  the  treaty  of  Nimwegen  in  1678.  For- 
merly a  dependency  of  the  chaotic  Empire,  there  still 
clung  around  it  some  of  the  prestige  of  departed 
glories  when  its  bishop's  jurisdiction  extended  over 
Brussels,  and  he  governed  the  territory  with  almost 
the  power  of  an  independent  sovereign,  having  his 
own  fortresses  and  garrisons  and  mint.  Fenelon 
himself  ranked  both  as  a  Prince  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire  and  as  a  Duke  of  France,  and,  though  pos- 
sessing no  feudal  privileges,  he  was  still  the  prin- 
cipal landholder  of  the  province,  with  a  floating 
revenue  of  some  hundred  thousand  francs,  perhaps 
about  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  modern  money. 
It  was  one  of  the  first  positions  in  the  kingdom; 
but  it  had  some  serious  drawbacks,  especially  as  a 
place  of  permanent  residence.  He  had  said  on  re- 
ceiving the  appointment,  "All  is  vanity  and  vexa- 
tion of  spirit ;  I  am  entering  on  a  state  of  perpetual 
servitude  in  a  strange  land,"  The  people  there 
were  Flemings,  not  Frenchmen,  in  their  language, 
their  habits,  their  modes  of  thought,  with  little  re- 
finement of  any  kind,  their  virtues  as  coarse-fibered 
as  their  manners.  It  was  no  small  privation  for  a 
man  like  Fenelon — ^born  for  Olympus  as  it  were, 
bred  to  the  best  society,  and  fitted  to  shine  in  it  with 
so  much  luster,  and  in  a  time  when,  even  more  than 
now,  everything  centered  around  the  court  at  the 
capital — to  be  shut  out  from  it  all,  losing  the  sym- 
pathy and  friendship  which  his  earlier  years  had 


i62  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

brought  him,  the  daily  intercourse  with  minds  that 
reflected  his  own  thoughts  yet  inspired  and  ex- 
hilarated him.  For  one  in  the  flower  of  his  man- 
hood and  at  the  zenith  of  his  capacities,  possessing 
the  gift  of  language  in  a  marvelous  degree,  with 
a  filled  and  cultured  brain,  to  be  thrown  so  abso- 
lutely out  of  his  element,  out  of  the  world  of  books 
and  intellectual  equals,  exiled  to  a  remote  corner 
of  the  realm  amid  strangers,  was  a  calamity  whose 
gravity,  on  one  side,  it  would  be  wrong  to  overlook. 
His  suflFerings,  as  nature  goes,  must  have  been 
acute.  Yet  he  speedily  adjusted  himself  to  the  sit- 
uation, and  there  is  no  note  of  repining.  For  mere 
court  favors,  its  dignities,  pomps,  and  pleasures,  he 
had  no  real  love,  and  his  whole  life  bears  witness  to 
the  truth  of  his  often  repeated  assertions,  that  he 
had  no  wish  to  return  to  Paris  or  Versailles;  no 
wish,  that  is,  under  the  divinely  appointed  circum- 
stances ;  for  he  was  able  always  to  find  in  such  cir- 
cumstances his  highest  pleasure.  Writing  to  the 
Duke  de  Beauvilliers  in  November,  1699,  he  says: 
"I  am  sorry,  dear  duke,  to  be  separated  from  you, 
the  dear  duchess,  and  a  very  few  other  friends.  But 
for  all  else  I  rejoice  in  being  away ;  I  sing  my  can- 
ticle of  thanksgiving  for  deliverance,  and  nothing 
would  cost  me  so  much  as  to  have  to  return." 

He  by  no  means  settled  down  into  "a  state  of 
passive  quietism,"  as  some  ignorantly  prate,  wholly 
misconceiving  both  quietism  and  the  man.  The 
slightest  scanning  of  the  records  shows  how  beau- 


Thk  Good  Archbishop.  163 

tifully  and  zealously  active  his  last  years  were.  If 
ever  a  man  threw  himself  into  the  interests  of 
others,  or  made  the  deep  love  of  God,  which  he 
breathed  as  his  native  air,  take  loving  shape  in 
strenuous  acts,  it  was  Fenelon.  He  was  quiet,  even 
as  was  Madame  Guyon,  and  as  all  other  high  saints 
have  been,  in  so  far  as  to  rest  with  an  absolute,  un- 
hesitating, unquestioning  faith  in  God's  keeping, 
asking  nothing  save  that  His  will  might  be  perfected 
in  him;  but  he  was  most  active  and  energetic  in 
body,  soul,  i.nd  spirit  for  his  neighbor's  good.  The 
unremitting  labors  which  he  undertook,  and  which 
his  vast  diocese  if  properly  administered  demanded, 
involved  a  life  of  the  most  regular  industry.  He 
gave  but  a  short  time  to  sleep,  and  his  working 
hours  began  early,  so  that  he  had  done  nearly  a 
day's  work  before  saying  mass.  His  habit  was  to 
say  this  in  his  own  chapel,  after  a  long  time  spent 
previously  in  prayer,  except  on  Saturdays,  when  he 
said  it  in  the  cathedral,  remaining  there  to  hear  the 
confessions  of  penitents  of  any  and  every  class  who 
chose  to  present  themselves.  He  not  infrequently 
preached  in  the  cathedral,  but  seems  to  have  pre- 
ferred the  town  churches,  in  some  one  of  which  he 
always  preached  the  Lenten  discourses.  He  made 
no  effort  at  oratory,  aiming  chiefly  to  be  plain  and 
intelligible,  excluding  from  his  sermons  superfluous 
ornaments  as  well  as  obscurity  and  difficult  reason- 
ings. He  preached  from  the  heart  rather  than  from 
the  head,  and  generally  without  notes,  but  not  with- 


i64  Fene;i,on:  Thu  Mystic. 

out  much  meditation  and  prayer.  He  used  to  say, 
"I  must  spend  much  time  in  my  closet  in  order  to 
be  prepared  for  the  pulpit,  and  to  be  sure  that  my 
heart  is  filled  from  the  Divine  fountain  before  I 
pour  out  the  streams  upon  the  people."  He  de- 
clared against  the  practice  of  committing  sermons 
to  writing  and  then  learning  them  by  heart. 

To  his  clergy  he  was  a  father  and  brother  in 
God,  gathering  them  about  him  as  constantly  as  pos  - 
sible  for  instruction  and  inspiration,  moving  among 
them  with  the  utmost  wisdom,  correcting,  advising, 
assisting.  One  of  his  first  cares  was  the  improve- 
ment of  the  seminary  for  completing  the  education 
of  those  who  were  preparing  for  the  Church.  Tt 
had  been  at  Valenciennes,  but  he  removed  it  to  Cam- 
brai,  that  it  might  be  under  his  own  eye.  It  was  his 
great  desire  to  reconstruct  it  on  the  lines  of  the 
seminary  at  St,  Sulpice,  where  he  himself  had  been 
so  profited,  and  to  intrust  the  supervision  of  the  stu- 
dents to  priests  who  were  members  of  that  congre- 
gation ;  but  he  found  insuperable  obstacles  to  this 
scheme  in  the  fear  of  M.  Tronson  lest  any  direct 
connection  between  St.  Sulpice  and  Cambrai  might 
draw  down  upon  the  former  the  king's  displeasure. 
So  Fenelon  appointed  to  the  head  of  it  his  intimate 
friend,  the  Abbe  de  Chanterac,  formerly  his  agent 
at  Rome,  saying,  "He  has  the  wit,  the  piety,  and 
the  wisdom  to  govern  it  peacefully."  But  Fenelon 
devoted  great  personal  care  to  the  students,  exam- 
ing  them  himself,  and  endeavoring  to  estimate  their 


Thk  Good  Archbishop.  165 

individual  capacities.  Besides  the  instruction  he 
gave  them  during  periods  of  retreat,  and  at  the 
chief  festivals,  he  conducted  conferences  once  a 
week,  listening  with  infinite  patience  to  their  diffi- 
culties and  replying  with  the  kindness  of  a  father. 
No  priest  proceeded  to  ordination  until  he  had  been 
five  times  examined  by  Fenelon  himself.  In  short, 
no  pains  were  spared  to  make  the  priests  of  this 
diocese  an  example  to  their  degenerate  colleagues. 
In  the  general  administration  of  his  diocese  he 
concentrated  all  his  powers,  allowing  nothing  to 
escape  him,  erring,  if  at  all,  on  the  side  of  mercy 
and  toleration,  finding  it  difficult  to  believe  many  of 
the  charges  brought  against  his  clerg}%  and  only 
convinced  by  the  most  conclusive  evidence.  He  ab- 
stained from  unnecessary  acts  of  authority,  avoided 
all  unnecessary  display,  removed  what  was  blamable 
by  meekness  and  moderation,  improved  with  pru- 
dence and  sobriety  what  was  good.  His  adminis- 
tration was  uniformly  wise,  strict  in  some  respects, 
and  yet  on  broad  and  liberal  lines.  There  was  no 
harrying  of  Protestants  or  Jansenists,  no  bureau- 
cratic fussiness,  no  seeking  after  popularity,  but 
every  man,  great  or  small,  was  treated  exactly  as 
was  becoming.  Between  him  and  his  flock,  his 
chapter,  or  his  clergy,  there  was  no  discord. 
Though  by  his  indefatigable  zeal  he  soon  made  the 
district  committed  to  his  charge  the  model  of  a  well- 
regulated  diocese,  his  biographers  do  not  record  of 
him  a  single  instance  of  what  are  generally  called 


i66  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

acts  of  vigor,  or  a  single  instance  of  gaudy  virtue. 
The  peace  of  heaven  was  with  him,  and  was  com- 
municated to  all  around.  All  local  customs,  down 
to  the  humblest,  were  handled  with  a  delicate  touch, 
and  pardonable  eccentricities  of  usage  were  never 
dealt  with  severely.  In  the  matter  of  patronage  he 
was  careful  that  no  outsider,  and  still  less  no  rela- 
tive of  his  own,  should  swoop  down  on  the  richest 
livings  and  secure  by  interest  what  the  natives  nat- 
urally looked  upon  as  their  own  by  right.  He 
traveled  throughout  the  district,  making  tours  of 
inspection  several  times  a  year,  and  so  coming  into 
touch  with  every  corner,  preaching  more  than  once 
in  every  one  of  the  six  hundred  parishes. 

The  laity  adored  him  for  his  charities,  for  the 
gentle  firmness  of  his  government,  for  the  natural 
grace  of  manner  that  enhanced  a  hundred-fold  the 
value  of  everything  he  said  and  did.  Always  ready 
to  help,  yet  always  modest  in  offering  assistance, 
he  seemed  when  about  some  kindly  action  to  be  re- 
ceiving rather  than  doing  a  favor.  He  was  always 
a  perfect  gentleman,  a  high-bred  man  of  rank,  a 
model  of  politeness,  and  was  equally  adapted  to 
every  grade  of  society.  Men  of  all  classes  were 
at  ease  in  his  company.  He  directed  every  one  to 
the  subject  he  best  understood,  and  then  disappeared 
himself,  thus  giving  them  an  opportunity  to  produce 
out  of  their  own  stock  the  materials  they  were  most 
able  to  furnish.  Thus  every  one  parted  from  him 
well  pleased  with  himself.     Perhaps  no  one  ever 


Th^  Good  ArchbishISp.  167 

possessed  in  a  higher  degree  the  happy  talent  of 
easy  conversation.  His  mind  was  entirely  given  up 
to  the  person  with  whom  he  conversed.  No  one  felt 
his  superiority;  every  one  found  him  on  his  own 
level.  In  visits  to  the  sick  at  home,  to  the  hospitals 
and  wounded  soldiers,  he  was  indefatigable,  nor 
was  he  a  stranger  to  the  Cambrai  prisons.  He  went 
into  the  cottages  of  the  poor,  and  spoke  to  them  of 
God,  and  comforted  them  under  the  hardships 
which  they  suffered.  If,  when  he  visited  them,  they 
presented  him  with  any  refreshments  in  their  un- 
pretending and  unpolished  manner,  he  pleased  them 
by  seating  himself  at  their  humble  table  and  partak- 
ing cheerfully  and  thankfully  of  what  was  set  be- 
fore him. 

Various  anecdotes  illustrate  his  benevolence.  In 
one  of  his  rural  excursions  he  met  with  a  peasant 
in  great  affliction.  Inquiring  the  cause,  he  was  in- 
formed by  the  man  that  he  had  lost  his  cow,  the 
cnly  support  of  his  indigent  family.  Fenelon  at- 
tempted to  comfort  him,  and  gave  him  money  to 
buy  another.  The  peasant  showed  gratitude,  but 
still  was  sad,  grieving  for  the  cow  he  had  lost,  to 
which  he  was  much  attached.  Pursuing  his  walk, 
Fenelon  found  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
place  of  the  interview  the  very  cow  which  was  the 
object  of  so  much  affection.  The  sun  had  set,  and 
the  night  was  dark,  but  the  good  archbishop  drove 
her  back  himself  to  the  poor  man's  cottage. 

In  February,  1697,  before  Fenelon  had  perma- 


0 

i68  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

nently  left  Versailles,  news  came  that  a  fire  had 
burned  to  the  ground  the  archiepiscopal  palace  at 
Cambrai,  and  consumed  many  or  all  of  his  books 
and  writings.  His  friend,  the  Abbe  de  Langeron, 
seeing  Fenelon  conversing  at  ease  with  a  number  of 
persons,  supposed  he  had  not  heard  these  unpleas- 
ant tidings,  and  began  with  some  formality  and  cau- 
tion to  inform  him.  But  Fenelon,  perceiving  his 
solicitude,  interrupted  him  by  saying  that  he  was 
fully  acquainted  with  what  had  happened,  adding 
further  that,  although  the  loss  was  a  very  great  one, 
he  would  much  rather  they  were  burned  than  the 
cottage  of  a  poor  peasant.  This  has  been  adjudged 
a  more  touching  and  pious  rejoinder  than  that  of  the 
literary  man  whose  library  was  destroyed  by  fire  and 
who  replied  to  the  tidings,  "I  should  have  profited 
little  by  my  books  if  they  had  not  taught  me  how 
to  bear  the  loss  of  them."  Fenelon  was  taught  com- 
passion for  men  and  acceptance  of  the  Divine  will 
from  a  higher  source  than  books.  At  his  own  ex- 
pense he  rebuilt  the  palace  and  furnished  it  in  a 
suitable  style  of  magnificence,  but  he  did  not  allow 
the  arms  of  his  family  to  be  affixed  or  painted  on 
any  part  of  it. 

The  archbishop's  day  was  very  carefully  laid 
out,  and  has  been  quite  minutely  described.  After 
the  early  rising,  the  private  devotions,  and  the  pub- 
lic services,  he  was  visible  until  nine  o'clock  to  those 
only  who  attended  him  by  appointment.  After  that, 
till  he  dined,  his  doors  were  open  to  all  persons  who 


The  Good  Archbishop.  169 

had  business  with  him.  Noon  was  the  hour  for 
dinner.  His  table  was  suitable  to  his  rank,  hand- 
somely dressed,  with  a  great  variety  and  abundance 
of  good  food,  that  his  many  guests  might  enjoy 
themselves,  but  he  himself  was  extremely  abste- 
mious, eating  only  the  simplest  and  lightest  viands, 
and  of  them  but  sparingly.  Contrary  to  the  custom 
of  most  prelates,  his  chaplains,  secretaries,  attend- 
ants, and  all  officers  of  the  household,  sat  with  hhn 
at  the  same  table,  making  a  very  harmonious  house- 
hold, among  whom  conversation  was  briskly  car- 
ried on,  Fenelon  taking  his  part,  but  leaving  every 
one  full  scope.  After  dinner  all  went  to  the  great 
state  bedchamber,  which  was  very  finely  furnished, 
but  was  used  mainly  as  a  sitting-room,  Fenelon 
himself  sleeping  in  a  little  room  adjoining,  fur- 
nished simply  with  some  gray  woolen  materials  and 
only  adorned  with  a  few  engravings.  General  con- 
versation was  continued  in  the  large  room;  but  a 
small  table  was  placed  before  Fenelon,  on  which 
he  signed  his  name  to  papers  which  required  imme- 
diate dispatch,  and  took  opportunity  to  give  direc- 
tions to  his  chaplains  on  the  affairs  of  the  diocese. 
He  said  grace  both  before  and  after  dinner.  He 
spent  the  evening  with  those  that  were  in  the  house, 
whoever  they  might  be,  supping  with  the  people 
who  happened  to  be  present.  Supper  was  at  nine. 
At  ten  the  whole  of  the  household  assembled.  One 
of  his  chaplains  read  the  night  prayers,  and  at  the 


lyo  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

end  of  them  the  archbishop  rose  and  gave  his  gen- 
eral blessing  to  the  company. 

His  chief  amusement,  when  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  relax  a  little  from  his  arduous  toils,  was 
that  of  walking  and  riding.  He  loved  rural  scenes. 
"The  country,"  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters,  "de- 
lights me.  In  the  midst  of  it  I  find  God's  holy 
peace."  Everything  seemed  to  him  to  be  full  of 
infinite  goodness ;  and  his  heart  glowed  with  purest 
happiness  as  he  escaped  from  the  business  and  cares 
which  necessarily  occupied  so  much  of  his  time, 
into  the  air  and  the  fields,  into  the  flowers  and  sun- 
shine, of  the  great  Creator. 

Alany  visitors  came  to  him  from  far  and  near, 
attracted  by  his  great  reputation,  and  the  results  of 
the  visits  were  always  the  same.  Whatever  the  pre- 
vious sentiments  or  opinions,  or  indifferent  or  hos- 
tile attitude,  all  were  enchanted  and  moved  to  high- 
est admiration.  The  Abbe  le  Dieu,  Bossuet's  secre- 
tary, and  Canon  of  Meaux,  in  September,  1704,  was 
a  guest  at  the  palace,  and  noted  everything  with  the 
most  minute  and  insatiable  curiosity.  He  found 
himself  treated  with  the  utmost  consideration,  and 
given  every  opportunity  to  pry  into  all  that  inter- 
ested him,  and  came  away  with  none  but  words  of 
hearty  praise  for  all  he  saw. 

A  Scotchman,  Andrew  Ramsay,  sometimes 
called  the  Chevalier  de  Ramsay,  scion  of  an  old 
Scotch  family,  exiled  for  his  sympathy  with  the 
Stuarts,  sickened  by  many  aspects  of  the  Protestant- 


Tnii  Good  Archbishop.  171 

ism  in  which  he  had  grown  up,  wandered  over  all 
Holland  and  Germany,  hoping  to  find  rest  amid  the 
philosophers  of  those  countries,  but  finding  it  not. 
In  this  condition  he  came  to  Cambrai,  where  the 
archbishop  received  him  with  his  wonted  fatherly 
kindness,  and  speedily  won  his  heart.  The  com- 
bination of  spiritual  religion  and  practical  wisdom 
which  he  found  in  Fenelon,  the  height  of  his  per- 
sonal holiness,  and  the  daily-watched  beauty  of  his 
life,  even  more  than  the  clear  and  helpful  teachings 
received,  made  so  deep  an  impression  oh  him  that 
he  became  a  convert  to  the  Roman  Church,  and, 
even  when  permitted  to  return  to  England,  he  re- 
mained faithful  to  the  doctrines  which  he  had 
learned  at  Cambrai.  He  continued  there  for  many 
months,  never  wearying  of  studying  his  host's  mind 
and  soul,  and  eventually  writing  the  first  life  of  him 
ever  published.  His  literary  powers  proved  of  great 
value  in  arranging  the  writings  of  his  master  and 
defending  him  from  calumny.  Subsequently  Ram- 
say became  teacher  to  some  of  the  Pretender's  fam- 
ily ;  and  there  is  an  interesting  story  on  record  tell- 
ing how  the  friendship  of  Fenelon  stood  him  in 
good  stead  at  Oxford  some  years  after,  showing 
how  in  England  the  good  archbishop's  virtues  at- 
tracted highest  esteem  and  his  name  had  more  in- 
fluence than  even  in  France  itself.  In  1730  Ram- 
say came  to  England  under  a  safe  conduct,  and  was 
received  as  a  member  of  the  Royal  Institution  on 
the  strength  of  his  connection  with  the  Archbishop 


172  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

of  Cambrai.  He  further  desired  to  take  the  Doc- 
tor's Degree  at  Oxford.  The  Earl  of  Arran,  then 
chancellor  of  the  university,  proposed  him  for  that 
honor.  Opposition  arose  in  Convocation  on  the 
double  ground  that  he  was  a  Roman  Catholic  and 
had  been  a  servant  of  the  Pretender ;  but  the  opposi- 
tion ceased  when  Dr.  King,  head  of  St.  Mary's  Hall, 
observed,  "I  present  to  you  a  pupil  of  the  illustrious 
Fenelon,  and  this  title  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  to 
us."  Ramsay  was  admitted  to  his  degree  by  a  vote 
of  85  to  17. 

Another  Britisher,  the  eccentric  Earl  of  Peter- 
boro,  in  whom  the  hero,  skeptic,  and  profligate  were 
mingled  in  about  equal  proportions,  being  among 
the  visitors  to  Marlborough's  headquarters  in  the 
Netherlands  during  the  war,  turned  aside  to  Cam- 
brai to  make  its  master's  acquaintance.  He  could 
have  had  very  little  sympathy  with  the  saintly  Mys- 
tic there,  but  he  could  no  more  resist  his  charm 
than  could  other  men.  He  wrote  subsequently  to 
the  philosopher,  John  Locke,  that  Fenelon  "was 
cast  in  a  particular  mold  that  was  never  used  for 
anybody  else.  He  is  a  delicious  creature,  but  I  was 
forced  to  cut  away  from  him  as  fast  as  I  could, 
else  he  would  have  made  me  pious."  He  is  also 
reported  to  have  written  while  there,  "On  my  word, 
I  must  quit  this  place  as  soon  as  possible,  for  if  I 
stay  here  another  week  I  shall  be  a  Christian  in 
spite  of  myself." 

Count  Munich,  afterwards  known  as  Marshal 


The  Good  Archbishop.  173 

Munich,  one  of  the  most  distin^ished  commanders 
in  the  armies  of  Russia,  when  young  was  a  lieuten- 
ant-colonel in  the  forces  contending  in  Flanders. 
Being  taken  prisoner  in  battle  and  conducted  to 
Cambrai,  he  was  deeply  affected  by  what  he  saw 
of  the  peaceful  mind  and  truly  Christian  generosity 
of  Fenelon.  In  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his  after  life, 
in  court  and  camp,  he  delighted  to  the  very  end  of 
his  stormy  career  to  remember  the  happy  days 
which  he  passed  as  a  prisoner  or  ward  in  the  so- 
ciety of  Fenelon.  He  found  the  recounting  of  the 
things  he  had  witnessed  at  Cambrai  a  help  in  sooth- 
ing the  agitations  of  his  own  wild  and  turbulent 
spirit  and  a  means  of  permanent  instruction  in 
righteousness. 

The  celebrated  Cardinal  Quirini,  whose  life  was 
devoted  to  learned  researches  and  useful  studies, 
and  who  visited  all  parts  of  Europe  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  literary  purposes,  speaks  in  the  following 
language  of  his  interview  with  Fenelon:  "I  con- 
sidered Cambrai  as  one  of  the  principal  objects  of 
my  travels  in  France.  I  will  not  hesitate  to  con- 
fess that  it  was  toward  this  single  spot,  or  rather 
towards  the  celebrated  Fenelon,  who  resided  there, 
that  I  was  powerfully  attracted.  With  what  emo- 
tions of  tenderness  I  still  recall  the  gentle  and  af- 
fecting familiarity  with  which  that  great  man 
deigned  to  discourse  with  me,  and  even  sought  my 
conversation;  though  his  palace  was  then  crowded 
with    French    generals    and    commanders-in-chief, 


174  Feni;u)n:  Th^  Mystic 

towards  whom  he  displayed  the  most  magnificent 
and  g-enerous  hospitality.  I  have  still  fresh  in  m_v 
recollection  all  the  serious  and  important  subjects 
which  were  the  topics  of  our  discourse.  My  ear 
caught  with  eagerness  every  word  that  issued  from 
his  lips.  The  letters  which  he  wrote  me  from  time 
to  time  are  still  before  me ;  letters  which  are  an  evi- 
dence alike  of  the  wisdom  of  his  principles  and  of 
the  purity  of  his  heart.  I  preserve  them  among  my 
papers  as  the  most  precious  treasure  which  I  have 
in  the  world." 

His  enemies,  we  are  told,  practiced  the  shameful 
artifice  of  placing  about  him  an  ecclesiastic  of  high 
birth  whom  he  considered  only  as  one  of  his  grand 
vicars,  but  who  was  to  act  as  a  spy  upon  him.  The 
man  who  had  consented  to  take  so  base  an  office 
had,  however,  the  magnanimity  to  punish  himself 
for  it.  Utterly  subdued  by  the  purity  and  gentle- 
ness of  spirit  that  he  witnessed  in  Fenelon,  he 
threw  himself  at  his  feet  and  confessed  the  un- 
worthy part  he  had  been  led  to  act,  and  withdrew 
from  the  world  to  conceal  in  retirement  his  grief 
and  shame. 

As  will  be  inferred  from  these  incidents  his 
hospitality  to  those  who  came  to  him  from  all  parts 
of  Europe,  as  well  as  from  near  by,  was  unbounded. 
In  spite  of  the  urgency  and  multiplicity  of  his  em- 
ployments he  was  always  ready,  with  the  greatest 
kindness  of  feeling,  to  pay  the  utmost  attention  to 
all  who  had  the  slightest  claim  upon  his  time.    He 


This  Good  Archbishop.  175 

did  not  hesitate  to  drop  his  eloquent  pen,  with  which 
he  conversed  with  all  Europe,  whenever  Providence 
called  him  to  listen  to  the  awkward  utterances  of 
the  most  ignorant  and  degraded  among  his  people. 
His  practice  and  his  preference  was  to  suffer  any 
personal  inconvenience,  or  sacrifice  any  private  in- 
terest, rather  than  injure  the  feelings  of  a  fellow- 
man  or  omit  an  opportunity  of  usefulness.  Writ- 
ing to  a  friend  about  his  daily  routine  he  says :  "1 
must  confer  with  the  Chapter  on  a  lawsuit ;  I  must 
write  and  dispatch  letters ;  I  must  examine  accounts. 
How  dreary  would  be  life  made  up  of  these  per- 
plexities and  details  but  for  the  will  of  God  which 
glorifies  all  He  has  given  us  to  do!"  This  is  the 
keynote  on  which  Fenelon  toned  and  tuned  his  life 
at  Cambrai,  making  himself  the  servant  of  all,  min- 
istering rather  than  being  ministered  unto,  glory- 
ing in  the  honor  of  such  services,  fearful  of  the 
outward  pomps  the  Church  conferred  upon  him,  yet 
accepting  them  in  all  simplicity  because  he  fully  be- 
lieved the  Church  to  be  directed  by  his  Master. 

"I  have  seen  him,"  says  the  Chevalier  Ramsay, 
"in  the  course  of  a  single  day,  converse  with  the 
great  and  speak  their  language,  ever  maintaining 
the  episcopal  dignity ;  .afterwards  discourse  with 
the  simple  and  the  little,  like  a  good  father  instruct- 
ing his  children.  This  sudden  transition  from  one 
extreme  to  the  other,  was  without  affectation  or 
effort,  like  one  who,  by  the  extensiveness  of  his 
genius,  reaches  to  all  the  most  opposite  distances. 


176  Fenei^on:  The   Mystic. 

I  have  often  observed  him  at  such  conferences,  and 
have  as  much,  admired  the  evangeUcal  condescen- 
sion by  which  he  became  all  things  to  all  men  as 
the  sublimity  of  his  discourses.  While  he  watched 
over  his  flock  with  a  daily  care,  he  prayed  in  the 
deep  retirement  of  internal  solitude.  The  many 
things  which  were  generally  admired  in  him  were 
nothing  in  comparison  of  that  divine  life  by  which 
he  walked  with  God  like  Enoch,  and  was  unknown 
to  men." 

The  Abbe  Galet,  another  of  Fenelon's  contem- 
poraries, bears  loud  witness  to  the  fact  that,  how- 
ever grand  the  outside  accommodations  were,  the 
archbishop's  personal  appointments  were  of  the 
most  modest  description.  He  says  that  "in  the 
meager  simplicity  of  his  private  living  rooms,  fitted 
up  plainly  in  serge,  of  his  dress — a  long  velvet  cas- 
sock trimmed  with  scarlet,  but  without  gold  tassels 
or  lace— =-even  of  his  ecclesiastical  vestments,  Fene- 
lon  did  homage  to  that  idea  of  holy  poverty  whose 
actual  practice  was  forbidden  by  his  station  in  the 
world." 

But  when  it  came  to  others,  Fenelon  was  very 
considerate  and  very  generous.  When  he  had  cause 
to  send  his  chaplains  into  the  country  on  any  busi- 
ness of  the  diocese,  it  was  always  in  one  of  his  own 
carriages  and  with  one  of  his  own  attendants,  that 
the  respect  which  he  showed  them  might  conciliate 
to  them  the  general  respect  of  his  flock.  He  took, 
50  far  as  possible,  the  burdens  of  his  clergy  on  him- 


Th^  Good  Archbishop.  177 

self,  offered  to  pay  more  tax  than  he  needed  to, 
even  wasted  (as  it  would  now  seem)  money  on  beg- 
gars whose  appearance  moved  his  sympathies.  Yet 
he  also  practiced  sound  economy,  that  he  might 
have  the  more  to  give,  held  a  careful  audit  of  his 
household  accounts,  and  set  aside  large  portions  of 
his  income  for  the  starving  soldiers,  or  the  inter- 
ests of  his  seminary,  or  the  education  of  his 
nephews  and  their  maintenance  in  the  army.  He 
educated  great  numbers  of  students  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, sending  them  to  Paris ;  especially  the  young 
men  that  were  likely  to  prove  good  priests,  but 
were  too  poor  to  bear  the  financial  burden.  He  had 
always  a  whole  string  of  his  nephews  and  grand- 
nephews  or  other  relatives  gathered  about  him, 
young  people  whose  education  he  was  asked  to 
take  charge  of  or  those  whose  interests,  for  friends' 
or  relationship's  sake,  he  was  desirous  to  promote. 
He  was  never  without  the  presence  of  children  in 
the  palace.  A  suite  of  rooms  above  his  own  was 
reserved  for  them.  Not  only  his  relatives,  but  the 
sons  of  his  intimate  friends,  were  placed  in  his  care, 
that  he  might  train  them  to  be  good  and  chivalrous 
gentlemen.  Very  few  of  these  boys  were  intended 
for  the  priesthood,  but  the  confidence  that  Fenelon 
inspired  was  so  great  that  it  was  believed  a  child 
reared  under  his  eye  would  be  better  fitted  for  court 
or  camp  than  if  he  spent  his  early  years  in  the  com- 
pany of  princes  at  St.  Germain  or  Versailles.  The 
last  of  his  little  guests  were  the  grandchildren  of 


178  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

his  friend,  De  Chevreuse,  and,  harassed  though  he 
was  by  national  disasters,  he  could  spare  time  to 
'study  and  report  upon  them  and  express  his  pleas- 
ure in  their  company.  He  wrote  of  the  children,  "I 
delight  to  have  them  here ;  I  love  them  dearly ;  they 
cheer  me  much ;  they  do  not  trouble  me  in  any  way." 
They  were  with  him  to  the  end ;  so  that  from  the  day 
he  entered  on  his  duties  at  Versailles  until  his  death 
he  may  be  said  to  have  given  a  definite  proportion  of 
his  time  and  energy  to  the  practical  demonstration 
of  his  excellent  theories  of  education. 

During  the  contest  for  the  Spanish  succession, 
in  the  early  years  of  the  eighteenth  century,  between 
France  and  Bavaria  on  the  one  side,  and  England, 
Holland,  and  Austria  on  the  other,  the  diocese  of 
Cambrai,  not  far  from  the  Netherlands,  which  has 
sometimes  been  denominated  the  battle-field  of 
Europe,  was  within  the  realm  of  war,  and  suffered 
much  from  the  cruel  ravages  of  the  advancing  and 
retreating  armies.  Under  these  circumstances, 
Fenelon  continued  his  constant  visitations  to  every 
part  of  the  district,  and  all  the  writers  dwell  upon 
the  singular  marks  of  homage  paid  on  these  occa- 
sions to  his  eminent  virtue  by  people  of  every  name. 
So  far  from  putting  any  obstacle  in  his  way,  the 
English,  Germans,  and  Dutch  took  every  means  of 
showing  their  admiration  and  veneration  for  the 
archbishop.  All  distinctions  of  religion  and  sect, 
all  those  feelings  of  hatred  or  jealousy  which  di- 
vide nations,  disappeared  in  his  presence.    He  was 


The  Good  Archbishop.  179 

often  obliged  to  resort  to  artifice  to  avoid  the  honors 
which  the  armies  of  the  enemy  intended  him.  He 
refused  the  military  escorts  which  were  offered  him 
for  his  personal  security  in  the  exercise  of  his  func- 
tions, and,  with  no  other  attendants  than  a  few  ec- 
clesiastics, he  traversed  the  countries  desolated  by 
war.  His  way  was  marked  by  his  alms  and  bene- 
factions, and  by  a  suspending  of  the  calamities 
which  armies  bring.  In  these  short  intervals  the 
people  breathed  in  peace,  so  that  his  pastoral  visits 
might  be  termed  a  truce  of  God.  The  Duke  of 
Marlborough,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  the  Duke  of 
Ormond,  the  distinguished  commanders  who  were 
opposed  to  France,  embraced  every  opportunity  of 
showing  their  esteem.  They  sent  detachments  of 
their  men  to  guard  his  meadows  and  his  corn ;  they 
caused  his  grain  to  be  transported  with  a  convoy  to 
Cambrai,  lest  it  should  be  seized  and  carried  off  by 
their  own  foragers.  St.  Simon,  by  no  means  his 
friend,  can  not  say  enough  in  panegyric  for  his 
never-ending  kindness  to  the  troops  brought 
through  Cambrai  during  the  war.  The  duke  paints 
him  as  moving  among  the  sick  and  the  whole,  the 
known  and  the  unknown,  the  officers  and  the  com- 
mon soldiers,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  world  which 
understood  how  to  gain  them  all  by  treating  each 
in  his  due  degree,  and  yet  a  true  and  cheerful  shep- 
herd of  their  souls,  as  constant  in  his  ministration 
to  the  humblest  as  though  he  had  no  other  business 
in  life.    And  he  was  no  less  careful  for  their  bodily 


i8o  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

comfort ;  lodged  officers  innumerable  in  his  palace ; 
hired  other  houses  besides  for  the  same  purpose; 
filled  them  with  the  sick  and  wounded,  and  with 
poor  people  driven  from  the  neighboring  villages; 
tended  the  sick  with  his  own  hands,  sometimes  for 
many  months,  until  their  entire  recovery ;  supplied 
the  hospitals  with  costly  drugs  and  endless  streams 
of  food  and  delicacies,  sent  out,  for  all  their  abun- 
dance, in  such  perfect  order  that  every  patient  had 
exactly  what  he  needed.  He  was  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  the  nobles  and  government  officials,  not 
only  of  his  diocese  but  of  all  Flanders,  even  as  far 
as  Brussels,  and  used  his  influence  with  them  to 
beg  many  temporal  favors  for  his  people;  got  his 
village  schoolmasters  exempted  from  service  in  the 
army,  saved  the  farmers  and  their  horses  from 
forced  labors  in  the  winter,  and  even  warned  the 
Ministry  at  Paris  that  the  devastated  country  could 
be  the  theater  of  no  more  campaigns.  When  the 
commisariat  of  the  king  was  in  extreme  want  of 
com,  the  archbishop  emptied  his  immense  granaries 
for  their  subsistence,  and  absolutely  refused  all 
compensation.  He  said,  "The  king  owes  me  noth- 
ing, and  in  times  of  calamity  it  is  my  duty  as  a  citi- 
zen and  a  bishop  to  give  back  to  the  State  what  I 
have  received  from  it."  It  was  thus  he  avenged 
himself  for  his  disgrace.  At  another  critical  mo- 
ment, only  a  timely  advance  from  his  own  purse 
prevented  the  garrison  of  St.  Omer  from  going  over 
in  a  body  to  the  enemy,  as  other  unpaid  regiments 


The;  Good  Archbishop.  i8i 

had  done.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he  became  the  idol 
of  the  troops,  who  sang  his  praises  even  in  the  ante- 
chambers of  Versailles.  And  his  fame  stood  equally, 
high  with  those  who  were  fighting  against  the  king. 

He  was  loved  by  so  many  because  he  was  him- 
self so  full  of  love.  An  instance  of  his  largeness 
both  of  mind  and  heart  occurred  during  these  clos- 
ing years,  which  deserves  to  be  recorded,  for  it  cer- 
tainly does  not  stand  alone.  The  English  prince 
known  as  the  Old  Pretender  was  an  officer  in  the 
French  army  in  1 709,  and  his  duty  took  him  near  to 
Cambrai.  In  the  conversations  which  passed  be- 
tween them,  the  archbishop  recommended  to  him 
very  emphatically  never  to  compel  his  subjects  to 
change  their  religion.  "Liberty  of  thought,"  said 
he,  "is  an  impregnable  fortress  which  no  human 
power  can  force.  Violence  can  never  convince;  it 
only  makes  hypocrites.  When  kings  take  it  upon 
them  to  direct  in  matters  of  religion  instead  of  pro- 
tecting it,  they  bring  it  into  bondage.  You  ought 
therefore  to  grant  to  all  a  legal  toleration;  not  as 
approving  everything  indifferently,  but  as  suffering 
with  patience  what  God  suffers;  endeavoring  in  a 
proper  manner  to  restore  such  as  are  misled,  but 
never  by  any  measures  but  those  of  gentle  and 
benevolent  persuasion." 

Even  against  the  Jansenists,  who  were  fierce 
Augustinians,  the  ultra  Calvinists  of  that  time  in 
the  matter  of  the  Divine  decrees,  and  whom  he  thor- 
oughly disliked,  being  himself  a  firm  friend  of  free 


i82  FiNHi^N:  The  Mystic 

will,  he  would  by  no  means  have  harsh  measures 
taken.  The  sweetness  of  his  disposition  and  hLs 
idea  of  the  meekness  of  God,  made  him  strongly 
averse  to  the  doctrines  of  Quesnel  and  Jansen, 
which  he  considered  as  leading  to  despair.  "God," 
he  said,  "is  to  them  only  a  terrible  Being ;  to  me  He 
is  a  Being  good  and  just.  I  can  not  consent  to  make 
Him  a  tyrant  who  binds  us  with  fetters,  and  then 
commands  us  to  walk,  and  punishes  us  if  we  do 
not."  In  this  he  was  at  one  with  John  Wesley.  But 
he  would  not,  any  more  than  the  Methodist,  permit 
persecution  of  them  in  his  diocese,  "Let  us,"  said 
he,  "be  to  them  what  they  are  unwilling  that  God 
should  be  to  man,  full  of  compassion  and  indulg- 
ence." He  was  told  that  the  Jansenists  were  his 
declared  enemies,  that  they  left  nothing  undone  to 
bring  him  and  his  doctrine  into  discredit.  "That 
is  one  further  reason,"  said  he,  "for  me  to  suffer 
and  forgive  them." 

On  hearing  that  some  peasants  in  Hainaut,  who 
were  descended  from  Protestants,  and  who  held  still 
the  same  opinions,  had  received  the  sacrament  from 
a  minister  of  their  own  persuasion,  but  that,  when 
discovered,  they  disguised  their  sentiments  and  even 
went  to  mass,  he  said  to  the  Reformed  minister: 
"Brother,  you  see  what  has  happened.  It  is  full 
time  that  these  good  people  should  have  some  fixed 
religion ;  go  and  obtain  their  names,  and  those  of 
all  their  families ;  I  give  you  my  word  that  in  less 
than  six  months  they  shall  all  have  passports" — 


Th^  Good  Archbishop.  183 

that  is,  to  go  where  they  like.  The  same  clergyman, 
whose  name  was  Brunice,  he  received  at  his  table 
as  a  brother,  and  treated  him  with  great  kindness. 

To  an  officer  of  the  army  who  consulted  him 
to  know  what  course  he  should  adopt  with  such  of 
his  soldiers  as  were  Huguenots,  Fenelon  answered: 
"Tormenting  and  teasing  heretic  soldiers  into  con- 
version, will  answer  no  end ;  it  will  not  succeed ;  it 
will  only  produce  hypocrites.  The  converts  so 
made  will  desert  in  crowds." 

The  closing  years  of  Fenelon's  life  were  inex- 
pressibly saddened  by  the  number  of  deaths  that 
swept  away  in  melancholy  succession  nearly  all  with 
whom  his  heartstrings  were  most  closely  inter- 
twined. The  first  to  go  was  his  very  dear  friend 
Langeron,  who  died  at  Cambrai,  November  10, 
1710.  He  probably  held  a  deeper  measure  of  his 
love  than  any  one  else,  possessed  his  entire  confi- 
dence, which  was  never  in  the  least  degree  shaken 
by  mutual  disagreement  and  reproof.  He'  chose  him 
for  a  coadjutor  on  the  mission  to  Saintonge,  shared 
with  him  the  loving  care  of  the  little  prince,  to 
whom  he  was  reader,  kept  him  with  him  at  Cambrai 
as  one  of  his  chief  assistants  and  a  principal  amel- 
ioration of  the  bonds  which  tied  him  there.  Three 
days  after  the  death  he  wrote:  "I  have  lost  the 
greatest  comfort  of  my  life,  and  the  best  laborer 
God  has  given  me  in  the  service  of  His  Church,  a 
friend  who  has  been  my  delight  for  thirty-four 
years.    O,  how  full  of  sorrow  life  is !    O  God,  how 


i84  Fenblon:  The  Mystic 

much  our  best  friends  cost  us !  The  only  solace  of 
life  is  friendship,  and  friendship  turns  into  irrepara- 
ble grief.  Let  us  seek  the  Friend  who  does  not  die, 
in  whom  we  shall  recover  all  the  rest.  Nothing 
could  be  deeper  or  truer  than  the  virtues  of  hiin 
who  has  died.  Nothing  could  be  a  greater  witness 
of  grace  than  was  his  death.  I  have  never  seen 
anything  more  lovely  and  edifying.  .  .  .  God's 
will  is  done.  He  chose  to  seek  my  friend's  happi- 
ness rather  than  my  comfort ;  and  I  should  be  \vant- 
ing  alike  to  God  and  my  friend,  if  I  did  not  will 
what  He  wills.  In  the  sharpest  moment  of  my  grief 
I  offered  up  him  I  so  dreaded  to  lose." 

Still  keener,  in  some  respects,  was  the  loss  he 
experienced  in  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
who  passed  away  February  i8,  1712.  The  ties  be- 
tween them  were  of  the  closest  description,  and  the 
long  separation  of  fifteen  years  had  made  no  dif- 
ference in  their  mutual  affection.  When  the  young 
man — fifteen  years  old  at  the  time  of  Fenelon's  ban- 
ishment in  1697 — heard  of  the  sad  event,  he  ran  to 
his  grandfather  and  flung  himself  at  his  feet,  and 
implored  with  tears  his  clemency,  and  as  a  proof  of 
Fenelon's  doctrine  appealed  to  the  change  in  his 
own  conduct  and  character.  Louis  was  deeply  af- 
fected, but  said  that  what  he  solicited  was  not  a 
matter  of  favor;  it  concerned  the  purity  of  the 
Church,  of  which  Bossuet  was  the  best  judge.  All 
intercourse  between  the  two  was  interdicted,  and  as 
both  were  closely  watched  by  spies,  it  was  four 


The;  Good  Archbishop.  185 

years  before  the  slightest  communication  could  pass 
between  them.  Then  the  duke  contrived  to  send  a 
letter  in  which  he  declared  his  unshaken  love,  say- 
ing that  indeed  his  friendship  but  increased  with 
time,  and  that  he  was  proceeding  more  steadily  than 
before  in  the  path  of  virtue.  When,  in  1702,  Louis 
gave  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  command  of  the  army 
in  Flanders,  he  petitioned  with  great  earnestness 
that  he  might  be  allowed  in  his  passage  to  the  army 
to  see  Fenelon.  The  king  consented  only  on  condi- 
tion that  the  interview  should  be  in  public.  They 
met  at  a  public  dinner,  where,  of  course,  but  little 
could  be  said,  as  everything  was  closely  watched. 
But  the  duke  in  a  loud  voice  exclaimed,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  all  present,  "I  am  sensible,  my  Lord  Arch- 
bishop, what  I  owe  to  you,  and  you  know  what  I 
am."  Fenelon  writes  concerning  the  interview  as 
follows :  "I  have  seen  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  after 
five  years'  separation,  but  God  seasoned  the  consola- 
tion with  great  bitterness.  I  saw  him  only  in  public 
for  a  short  quarter  of  an  hour.  One  must  take 
things  as  they  come  and  give  one's  self  up  unre- 
servedly to  God's  providence."  After  this,  there 
was  opportunity  for  a  more  frequent  correspond- 
ence, and  it  is  most  creditable  to  both  parties,  filled 
with  affection  and  profoundest  deference  on  the 
part  of  the  younger  man,  and  with  the  deepest 
solicitude  and  wisest  counsels  on  the  part  of  the 
elder. 

The  duke's  father,  the  dauphin,  or  heir  apparent, 


i86  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

died  in  April,  171 1,  leaving,  of  course,  his  son  as 
next  in  the  succession  to  the  throne.  Then,  indeed, 
did  Fenelon's  hopes  and  the  hopes  of  the  nation  rise 
high.  Cambrai  became  thronged  with  people  who 
thought  it  well  to  be  in  the  good  graces  of  one  who 
might  very  soon  be  the  power  behind  the  throne 
and  the  most  important  man  in  France.  But  alas ! 
alas  for  human  plans  and  prospects !  The  dauphine. 
Burgundy's  wife,  died  February  12th,  of  a  strange 
malady  which  baffled  all  the  physicians;  then  the 
duke  himself,  having  caught  the  mfection,  died  Feb- 
ruary 1 8th,  and  their  eldest  son  succumbed  to  the 
same  complaint,  March  i8th.  The  royal  household 
was  overwhelmed,  the  nation  was  stunned,  and  no 
one  felt  the  loss  more  than,  probably  no  one  as 
much  as,  Fenelon.  He  writes :  "I  am  struck  down 
with  grief;  the  shock  has  made  me  ill  without  any 
malady.  My  health  has  suffered  terribly,  and  what- 
ever revives  my  grief  brings  on  a  certain  amount  of 
feverish  agitation.  I  am  humbled  by  my  weakness. 
All  my  links  are  broken ;  there  is  nothing  left  to 
bind  me  to  earth;  but  the  ties  which  bind  me  to 
heaven  are  strengthened.  O,  what  suffering  this 
true  friendship  breeds !  But  if  I  could  restore  him 
to  life  by  turning  a  straw  I  would  not  do  it,  for  it 
is  God's  will."  It  was  undoubtedly  the  darkest  hour 
of  his  days.  He  never  wholly  rallied  from  the  blow, 
or  took  the  same  interest  in  his  labors  that  he  did 
before.  But  there  is  the  best  of  evidence  that  his 
faith  in  God  did  not  fail,  and  that  in  all  the  suffer- 


The  Good  Archbishop.  187 

ing,  both  for  himself  and  for  his  country,  around 
which  the  gloomiest  shadows  seemed  now  to  be  gath- 
ering, he  had  no  thought  of  the  Almighty  unworthy 
of  his  goodness. 

In  November,  1712,  died  another  most  dearly 
loved  and  life-long  friend,  the  Duke  of  Chevreuse, 
opening  up  all  his  wounds  afresh,  as  he  says ;  but 
he  adds,  "God  be  praised,  be  it  ours  to  adore  his 
impenetrable  purposes!"  In  August,  1714,  Fenelon 
lost  the  last  of  that  special  group  who  had  stuck  to 
him  more  closely  than  brothers,  the  Duke  de  Beau- 
villiers.  They  had  never  met  since  he  left  Ver- 
sailles, but  their  hearts  were  most  closely  knit.  "Our 
best  friends,"  he  wrote,  "are  the  source  of  our 
greatest  sorrow  and  bitterness.  One  is  tempted  to 
say  that  all  good  friends  should  wait  and  die  on 
the  same  day.  Friendship  will  be  the  cause  of  my 
death." 

It  was  to  be  even  so.  His  frame  was  feeble,  and 
these  fierce  attacks  affected  him  severely.*  In  the 
following  November  a  carriage  accident  entailed 
another  shock  to  his  system,  from  which  he  had 
not  strength  to  recover.  In  the  month  that  followed, 
his  friends  recognized  that  he  was  failing  visibly. 
On  the  first  of  January  he  was  attacked  by  a  sharp 
fever,  and  it  began  to  be  evident  that  the  end  was 
near.  For  the  whole  of  the  six  days  that  remained 
to  him  on  earth  he  permitted  only  the  reading  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures.  Over  and  over  they  read  to 
him  2  Cor.  iv  and  v,  especially  the  part  about  the 


i88  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

"building  of  God,  the  house  not  made  with  hands, 
eternal  in  the  heavens."  "Repeat  that  again,"  he 
said  more  than  once.  Other  texts  of  Scripture  par- 
ticularly suited  to  his  condition  were  read  to  hini 
again  and  again.  He  would  try  to  repeat  them 
himself  with  a  failing  voice,  while  his  eyes  and  his 
whole  countenance  were  lighted  up  with  a  bright 
expression  of  faith  and  love  which  the  sacred  words 
inspired.  Several  times  he  asked  those  around  to 
repeat  St.  Martin's  dying  words,  "Lord,  if  I  am  yet 
necessary  to  Thy  people  I  refuse  not  labor;  Thy 
will  be  done." 

On  the  morning  of  the  4th  he  took  the  blessed 
sacrament,  being  carried  into  the  large  state  bed- 
chamber for  the  purpose,  and  gathering  about  him 
his  attendants,  to  whom  he  spoke  a  few  farewell 
words  of  tender  exhortation.  On  the  6th  he  re- 
ceived extreme  unction,  as  one  about  to  depart. 
And  immediately  after,  bidding  every  one,  save  his 
chaplain,  leave  the  room,  summoning  all  his 
strength,  he  dictated  to  him  a  feVv  lines  addressed 
to  Pere  Lachaise,  the  king's  confessor.  Being  thus 
about  to  appear  before  God,  he  said:  "I  have  never 
felt  aught  save  docility  to  the  Church  and  abhor- 
rence of  the  novelties  attributed  to  me.  I  accepted 
the  condemnation  of  my  book  with  the  most  abso- 
lute unreserve.  There  never  was  a  moment  in  my 
life  when  I  did  not  entertain  the  liveliest  gratitude 
and  most  honest  zeal  for  the  king's  person,  as  also 
the  most  inviolable  respect  and  attachment.    I  wish 


The  Good  Archbishop.  189 

long  life  for  His  Majesty,  of  whom  both  Church 
and  State  have  so  great  need.  If  it  be  permitted 
me  to  come  before  the  presence  of  God,  I  will  con- 
tinually ask  this  of  Him."  He  makes  in  the  letter 
two  requests  of  the  king,  neither  of  them  for  him- 
self or  his  family:  First,  that  he  will  appoint  to 
Cambrai  a  pious,  worthy,  orthodox  prelate ;  and 
secondly,  that  he  will  allow  the  Cambrai  seminary 
to  be  intrusted  to  the  Sulpician  Fathers  to  whom  he 
owed  so  much.  The  rest  of  that  day  and  the  night 
following  he  had  much  agony,  and,  in  a  feeble, 
broken  voice,  said  many  times,  "Thy  will,  not  mine.'* 
He  was  surrounded  by  those  who  loved  him  best, 
his  two  favorite  nephews,  the  Abbe  de  Beaumont 
and  the  Marquis  de  Fenelon,  arriving  in  haste  from 
Paris.  He  gave  them  all  his  blessing  as  long  as  he 
could  speak.  He  passed  away  peacefully,  amid  the 
tears  of  all  around,  at  quarter  past  five  in  the  morn- 
ing; aged  sixty-three  years,  five  months,  and  one 
day. 

He  was  buried  in  the  cathedral  of  Cambrai,  with 
every  tribute  of  honor  and  respect,  but  with  all  sim- 
plicity and  without  ostentation,  as  he  himself  di- 
rected. In  his  will,  dated  May  5,  1705,  he  wrote, 
after  declaring  that  he  cherished  no  thought  con- 
cerning those  who  had  attacked  him  save  those  of 
prayer  and  brotherly  love :  "I  wish  my  burial  to  be 
in  the  metropolitical  church  at  Cambrai,  as  simple  as 
may  be,  and  with  the  least  possible  expenditure. 
This  is  not  a  mere  conventional  expression  of  humil- 


igo  Fenei.on:  Thk  Mystic. 

ity,  but  because  I  think  the  money  laid  out  on 
funerals  other  than  simple  had  better  be  kept  for 
more  useful  purposes ;  and  also  I  think  the  modesty 
of  a  bishop's  funeral  should  set  the  example  to  the 
laity  and  lead  them  to  diminish  useless  outlay  in 
their  burial  arrangements."  The  last  clause  says: 
"While  I  love  my  family  deeply,  and  am  aware  of 
the  needy  state  of  their  affairs,  I  do  not  think  it 
right  to  leave  anything  to  them.  Ecclesiastical 
property  is  not  meant  to  support  family  wants,  and 
should  not  pass  out  of  the  hands  of  those  who  min- 
ister in  the  Church."  It  was  found,  when  his  af- 
fairs were  settled  up,  that  after  administermg  for 
twenty  years  the  great  income  of  his  office,  which 
was  at  his  own  absolute  disposal,  he  ended  a  life  of 
persistent  and  rigorous  self-denial  with  no  money 
in  his  coffers,  and  no  debts  to  any  man.  His  public 
and  private  life  had  been  ruled  by  the  fundamental 
principle  which  he  did  not  fear  to  proclaim  again 
and  again  as  his  conception  of  truest  patriotism :  "1 
love  my  family  better  than  myself;  I  love  my  coun- 
try better  than  my  family;  I  love  the  human  race 
better  than  my  country."  All  his  days  declared, 
also,  that  he  loved  God  best  of  all. 

He  stood  for  union  with  the  Divine.  He  lived 
ever  in  the  eye  of  the  All-Searcher.  All  his 
thoughts  and  actions  had  been  ruled  by  the  purpose 
to  be  perfectly  pleasing  unto  Him.  He  had,  no 
doubt,  failed  at  some  points.  He  was  ever  ready  to 
confess  it,  and  lament  his  weaknesses;  for  he  was 


The  Good  Archbishop.  191 

human.  But  not  many  of  mortal  frame  ever  kept 
more  steadily  before  them  from  youth  to  age  the 
high  endeavor  to  be  as  much  as  possible  like  Christ. 
Neither  disgrace  nor  disappointment  daunted  him. 
The  failure  of  earthly  ambitions  only  impressed 
en  him  the  more  that  he  had  a  message  for  man- 
kind that  was  above  such  things.  And  though  there 
were  probably  not  many  in  his  generation  that  were 
ready  to  receive  his  lofty  words,  though  there  are 
even  now  not  many  who  are  prepared  to  accept  fully 
his  sublime  teachings  and  follow  him  as  he  fol- 
lowed the  Master,  yet  there  will  always  be  an  in- 
ward witness  in  the  hearts  of  some  of  every  age 
that  responds  to  such  voices,  and  leaps  with  joy  at 
the  summons  to  put  everything  away,  that  God  may 
take  full  possession  of  His  own.  He  was  absorbed 
in  the  hot  pursuit  of  highest  holiness.  On  this  his 
strength  was  concentrated.  Only  thus  did  he  at- 
tain the  success  that  was  vouchsafed  him.  The 
spiritual  life  was  to  him  the  only  real  life.  The 
Presence  Divine  was  ever  with  him.  The  Spirit  of 
God  filled  his  heart. 

During  the  outrages  of  the  French  Revolution, 
in  1793,  when  the  graves  of  the  dead  were  being 
brutally  violated  by  order  of  the  government  with 
wanton  cruelty  and  savage  merriment,  and  the 
bodies  of  the  great  and  noble,  the  learned  and  pious, 
were  being  scattered  to  the  four  winds,  an  order 
from  government  reached  Cambrai  directing  that 
all  the  leaden  coffins  that  were  there  be  sent  to  the 


192  "BtNtWNi  Thk  Mystic 

arsenal  at  Douay  to  be  converted  into  instruments 
of  warfare.  The  agents  proceeded  to  the  Metropol- 
itan Cathedral,  entered  the  vault  under  the  altar, 
took  away  the  bodies  of  others,  but  left  the  remains 
of  Fenelon ;  not  designedly,  it  would  seem,  for  they 
had  no  veneration  for  the  talents  and  virtues  of  the 
illustrious  prelate ;  not  accidentally,  for  what  men 
call  chance  is  only  the  providence  of  God.  It  was 
the  counsel  of  unerring  wisdom  that  issued  the 
commission,  "Touch  not  mine  anointed  and  do  my 
prophet  no  harm."  There  are  official  documents 
describing  the  finding  of  the  body  afterwards  by 
the  mayor  of  Cambrai.  The  remains,  in  a  fair  state, 
of  preservation,  were  reverently  sealed  up  and  re- 
placed in  the  vault.  In  1800  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon ordered  that  "a.  monument  or  mausoleum  be 
erected  to  receive  the  ashes  of  the  immortal  Fene- 
lon ;"  to  which  they  were  to  be  transferred  in  due 
time.  This  was  probably  not  carried  out,  as  the 
existing  monument  to  Fenelon  is  in  the  new  cathe- 
dral of  the  date  of  1825.  But  his  chief  monument 
is  in  the  hearts  of  men,  in  the  veneration  and  affec- 
tion felt  for  him  by  the  whole  of  Christ's  Church 
without  distinction  of  name,  and  in  the  gratitude  of 
the  many,  many  souls  who  have  been  helped  on 
their  heavenward  journey  by  his  strong,  wise  words 
and  beautiful  example. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  SPIRITUAL  LETTERS. 

It  is  fitting  that  we  conclude  this  sketch  of 
Fenelon  with  some  account  of  his  writings,  be- 
cause it  is  so  largely  through  them  that  he  lives  to- 
day. The  most  complete  collection  of  his  works,  is- 
sued from  Paris  between  1820  and  1830,  is  in  thirty- 
four  volumes,  8vo,  of  which  eleven  volumes  are 
given  to  the  correspondence.  Many  of  these  lit- 
erary labors  have  been  translated  into  English;  for 
instance,  the  treatise  on  the  "Education  of  Daugh- 
ters," the  "Dialogues  on  Eloquence,"  the  "Demon- 
stration of  the  Existence  of  God,"  and  the  "Spiritual 
Letters."  The  last  has  by  far  the  greatest  impor- 
tance at  the  present  time,  has  indeed  an  importance 
for  all  time.  But  before  taking  it  up,  a  few  words 
concerning  some  of  his  other  productions  will  be  in 
place. 

While  he  was  superior  at  the  institution  for  the 
New  Catholics,  in  1687  or  1688,  he  wrote  a  treatise 
on  the  authority  of  the  priesthood  or  the  dogma  of 
the  Apostolical  Succession,  of  course  defending  it; 
which  established  his  reputation  as  a  writer,  and 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  king.  Much  more  im- 
portant was  his  work  on  the  "Education  of  Girls  f 

■  13  193 


194  FeneivOn:  The  Mystic 

this  has  been  sufficiently  dwelt  upon  in  the  first 
chapter.  A  treatise  on  the  "Existence  of  God"  was 
begun  in  these  earlier  years,  but  leisure  did  not  seem 
to  be  found  for  its  full  development.  Even  the  first 
part  was  not  published  till  171 2,  and  the  second 
did  not  see  the  light  until  three  years  after  his  death. 
It  is  of  little  value  now,  but  it  made  a  strong  im- 
pression on  the  metaphysical  philosophers  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  is  especially  praised  by 
Thomas  Reid.  His  "Dialogues  on  Eloquence," 
with  special  reference  to  that  of  the  pulpit  (an  ad- 
mirable treatise  on  oratory),  was  not  published  at 
all  until  after  his  death ;  neither  was  his  "Refutation 
of  Malebranche,"  his  "Letters  to  the  King,"  treatise 
on  the  "Authority  of  the  Sovereign  Pontiff,"  "Ques- 
tions for  Self-Examination  on  the  Duties  of  a 
King,"  "Letters  on  Religion"  to  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans, "Plans  of  Government,"  and  "Letter  to  the 
Academy."  The  latter,  written  a  few  months  be- 
fore his  death,  constitutes  his  answer  to  the  chief 
Hterary  questions  of  his  age,  and  treats  more  es- 
pecially of  the  controversy  between  the  Classic  and 
Romantic  Schools.  He  was  a  thoroughgoing 
Classicist,  an  Ancient  of  the  Ancients,  insisting  on 
the  study  of  Greek  as  a  panacea  for  most  literary 
diseases.  He  has  also  in  the  letter  a  chapter  on 
the  "Art  of  Writing  History,"  making  symmetry  the 
first  requirement,  and  impartiality  next.  In  his  eyes 
a  history  was  a  work  of  art,  with  something  in  it 
of  the  epic  poem.    He  suggested,  furthermore,  that 


The  Spirituai,  I^^tters.  195 

the  Academy  should  devote  itself  to  a  detailed  ex- 
amination of  the  standard  works  in  the  French  lan- 
guage, and  prepare  popular  editions  with  notes. 

All  Fenelon's  writings,  it  may  be  said,  show 
much  grandeur  and  delicacy  of  sentiment,  great  fer- 
tility of  genius,  a  correct  taste,  and  excited  sensi- 
bility. A  poetical  character  appears  in  them  all. 
By  assiduous  study  the  works  of  the  best  writers 
of  antiquity  were  familiar  to  him,  and  his  intimate 
acquaintance  with  their  productions  furnished  him 
a  resource  in  every  vicissitude  of  life ;  they  were 
his  ornament  in  prosperity,  his  comfort  in  adversity. 
The  charm  of  his  manner  in  society  is  largely  com- 
municated to  the  products  of  his  pen.  They  abound 
in  passages  of  splendor  and  pathos,  but  their  chief 
excellence  is  in  their  tender  simplicity,  by  which 
the  reader's  heart  is  irresistibly  drawn  to  the  writer. 

Of  much  higher  rank  in  a  literary  point  of  view 
than  any  of  those  previously  mentioned  was  his 
"Adventures  of  Telemachus ;  or.  The  Education  of 
a  Prince."  It  is  a  fabulous  narrative  in  the  form  of 
a  heroic  poem,  in  which  he  sets  down  the  truths 
most  necessary  to  be  known  by  one  about  to  reign ; 
and  the  faults  that  cling  most  closely  to  sovereign 
power  are  also  fully  described.  It  was  composed  by 
Fenelon  while  he  was  preceptor  to  the  royal  dukes, 
and  designed  exclusively  for  their  instruction; 
'■'written  at  chance  moments,  hurriedly,  and  piece 
by  piece,"  says  the  author,  "sent  to  the  press  by  an 
unfaithful    copyist,    and  never  intended    for  the 


196  Fenewn:  The  Mystic 

world."  He  insisted  that  he  did  not  borrow  from 
real  persons,  or  sketch  in  the  characters  of  his  own 
time.  This  was  undoubtedly  true;  but  no  human 
power  could  convince  Louis  XIV  that  it  was  so, 
and  the  unauthorized  publication  of  it  in  1698,  just 
when  the  Quietist  controversy  was  at  its  height, 
was  extremely  unfortunate  for  Fenelon,  and  filled 
the  king's  cup  of  wrath  to  overflowing.  He  had 
been  more  than  sufficiently  embittered  before,  but 
after  this  there  was  not  the  slightest  hope  of  recon- 
ciliation; for  the  book  is  an  idealistic  portrayal  of 
a  commonwealth  where  virtue  has  its  own  again, 
where  there  is  no  tyranny,  where  the  king  is  the 
father  of  all  his  people  and  the  chief  servant  of  the 
State,  where  duty  is  lifted  far  above  rights,  and 
justice  is  supreme.  Since  nothing  could  be  more 
opposite  to  all  this  than  the  character  and  conduct 
of  King  Louis,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  took  it  as  a 
personal  insult  and  a  deliberate  satire.  In  every 
part  of  it  disrespectful  mention  is  made  of  ambi- 
tion, of  extensive  conquests,  of  military  fame,  of 
magnificence,  and  of  almost  everything  else  which 
Louis  considered  as  the  glory  of  his  reign.  While 
the  author  must  be  acquitted  of  any  intention  to 
affront  the  monarch,  which  would  have  been  most 
ungrateful  and  most  ridiculous,  it  is  evident  that 
he  must  have  had  unconsciously  in  mind  the  prin- 
cipal actors  in  the  scenes  around  him,  was  wholly 
out  of  sympathy  with  them,  and  was  training  the 
young  princes  on  a  totally  different  model.    The 


Thb  Spirituai,  Letters.  197 

book,  suppressed,  of  course,  in  Paris,  was  brought 
out  at  once  in  Holland,  and  became  everywhere  the 
rage,  immensely  popular  all  over  Europe,  and,  even 
to  the  present  day,  much  read.  It  has  stood  the  test 
of  two  centuries  of  existence,  has  been  translated 
into  many  languages,  and  has  made  his  name  fa- 
miliar to  those  whom  he  could  not  otherwise  have 
touched.  Nevertheless,  the  effect  of  its  publication 
on  his  fortunes  at  that  time  was  exceedingly  disas- 
trous, and  his  enemies  made  the  utmost  use  of  it 
against  him. 

"The  Explanation  of  the  Maxims  of  the  Saints 
on  the  Interior  Life,"  and  the  great  part  it  played  in 
Fenelon's  career  has  been  already  referred  to  in  a 
previous  chapter.  The  reader  will  enjoy  getting  a 
little  fuller  idea  of  its  contents.  Dr.  T.  C.  Upham 
devoted  forty-five  pages  to  summarizing,  in  a  free 
translation;  the  forty-five  articles  constituting  the 
book,  and  the  following  extracts  are  taken  from  his 
work,  now  out  of  print: 

"Pure  love  is  mixed  love  carried  to  its  true  re- 
sult. When  this  result  is  attained,  the  motive  of 
God's  glory  so  expands  itself,  and  so  fills  the  mind, 
that  the  other  motive,  that  of  our  own  happiness,  be- 
comes so  small  and  so  recedes  from  our  inward  no- 
tice as  to  be  practically  annihilated.  It  is  then  that 
God  becomes  what  He  ever  ought  to  be, — the  center 
of  the  soul,  to  which  all  its  affections  tend ;  the  great 
moral  sun  of  the  soul,  from  which  all  its  light  and 
all  its  warmth  proceed.    It  is  then  that  a  man  thinks 


198  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

no  more  of  himself.  He  has  become  the  man  of  a 
single  eye.  His  own  happiness  and  all  that  regards 
himself  are  entirely  lost  sight  of,  in  his  simple  and 
fixed  look  to  God's  will  and  God's  glory." 

"When  the  sun  shines  the  stars  disappear. 
When  God  is  in  the  soul,  who  can  think  of  himself  ? 
So  that  we  love  God  and  God  alone ;  and  all  other 
things  in  and  for  God." 

"The  second  state,  which  follows  that  of  holy 
resignation,  is  that  of  holy  indifference.  Such  a 
soul  not  only  desires  and  wills  in  submission,  but 
absolutely  ceases  either  to  desire  or  to  will,  except 
in  co-operation  with  the  Divine  leading.  Its  desires 
for  itself,  as  it  has  greater  light,  are  more  com- 
pletely and  permanently  merged  in  the  one  higher 
and  more  absorbing  desire  of  God's  glory,  and  the 
fulfillment  of  His  will.  It  desires  and  wills,  there- 
fore, only  what  God  desires  and  wills." 

"Holy  indiflference  is  not  inactivity.  It  is  the 
furthest  possible  from  it.  It  is  indifference  to  any- 
thing and  everything  out  of  God's  will ;  but  it  is  the 
highest  life  and  activity  to  everything  in  that  will." 

"One  of  the  principles  in  the  doctrine  of  holy 
living  is,  that  we  should  not  be  premature  in  draw- 
ing the  conclusion  that  the  process  of  inward  cruci- 
fixion is  complete,  and  that  our  abandonment  to  God 
is  without  any  reservation  whatever.  The  act  of 
consecration,  which  is  a  sort  of  incipient  step,  may 
be  sincere;  but  the  reality  of  the  consecration  in 
the  full  extent  to  which  we  suppose  it  to  exist,  and 


Thb  Spiritual  Letters.  199 

which  may  properly  be  described  as  abandonment 
or  entire  self-renunciation,  can  be  known  only  when 
God  has  applied  the  appropriate  tests.  We  can  not 
know  whether  we  have  renounced  ourselves,  except 
by  being  tried  on  those  very  points  to  which  our 
self-renunciation  relates.  The  trial  will  show 
whether  or  not  we  are  wholly  the  Lord's.  Those 
who  prematurely  draw  the  conclusion  that  they  are 
so,  expose  themselves  to  great  illusion  and  injury." 

"Those  in  the  highest  state  of  religious  experi- 
ence desire  nothing  except  that  God  may  be  glorified 
in  them  by  the  accomplishment  of  His  holy  will." 

"Their  continual  life  of  love,  which  refers  every- 
thing to  God,  and  identifies  everything  with  His 
will,  is  essentially  a  life  of  continual  prayer." 

"The  will  of  God  is  their  ultimate  and  only  rule 
of  action." 

"The  most  advanced  souls  are  those  which  are 
most  possessed  with  the  thoughts  and  the  presence 
of  Christ." 

"The  soul  in  the  state  of  pure  love  acts  in  sim- 
plicity. Its  inward  rule  of  action  is  found  in  the 
decisions  of  a  sanctified  judgment.  These  decisions, 
based  upon  judgments  that  are  free  from  self-inter- 
est, may  not  always  be  absolutely  right,  because  our 
views  and  judgments,  being  limited,  can  extend  only 
to  things  in  part;  but  they  may  be  said  to  be  rela- 
tively right;  they  conform  to  things  so  far  as  we 
are  permitted  to  see  them  and  understand  them,  and 
convey  to  the  soul  a  moral  assurance  that,  when  we 


aoo  Fenewn:  The  Mystic 

act  in  accordance  with  them,  we  are  doing  as  God 
would  have  us  do." 

We  come  now  to  the  "Spiritual  Letters,"  which 
have  been  called,  not  unadvisedly,  "the  most  per- 
fect things  of  their  kind  anywhere  to  be  found." 
They  were  written  to  a  very  large  number  of  cor- 
respondents, both  men  and  women,  on  the  impulse 
of  the  moment,  and  without  the  least  thought  of 
publication.  Hence  they  become  all  the  more  the 
most  authentic  revelation  of  his  inmost  mind,  a 
necessary  and  integral  part  of  his  character.  He 
wrote  as  he  would  have  spoken,  suiting  himself  to 
the  knowledge  of  his  hearers,  aiming  at  simplicity 
rather  than  ornament,  but  not  disdaining  homely 
similes  so  far  as  they  will  make  his  meaning  plain. 
He  draws  freely  and  constantly  upon  his  own  ex- 
perience, so  that  the  letters  are  a  reflection  of  him- 
self, as  well  as  a  storehouse  of  practical  religion. 
Helpful  counsel  may  be  found  in  them  for  nearly 
all  situations  in  life  and  on  nearly  all  topics  that 
are  most  closely  connected  with  Christian  living. 
For  though  the  persons  to  whom  he  wrote  were 
usually  in  the  higher  circles — dukes,  counts,  lords, 
ladies,  soldiers,  courtiers,  and  priests — nevertheless, 
they  were  always  men  and  women,  wives  and 
mothers,  with  human  hearts  and  much  the  same 
temptations  to  combat  that  come  to  common  people 
in  the  present  age.  The  letters  were  written  to  meet 
the  individual  needs  of  very  real  persons,  written 
out  of  a  warm  heart  and  by  a  mind  stored  with  the 


The  Spiritual  Letters.  201 

lore  of  the  Church  on  these  subjects,  as  well  as 
gifted  with  unusual  powers  of  discernment.  Fene- 
lon  was  a  consummate  director  of  consciences;  he 
moved  through  life  heavily  incumbered  with  the 
wants  of  others,  carrying  many  burdens  and  tax- 
ing all  his  great  powers  to  meet  the  ever-recurring 
needs  of  a  multitude  of  perplexed  and  hungering 
spirits. 

Those  who  peruse  the  epistles  will  readily  per- 
ceive that  they  present  a  very  high  ideal,  yet  we  do 
not  think  they  can  fairly  be  pronounced  harsh.  He 
does  not  speak  in  a  tone  of  asperity.  He  saw  far 
into  the  human  heart,  looked  with  a  piercing  eye 
through  the  disguises  of  sin,  could  follow  with  un- 
exampled clearness  the  turnings  and  twistings  and 
lurkings  of  selfishness.  Though  the  severest  of  cen- 
sors, he  is  at  the  same  time  the  most  pitying.  He 
regards  human  error  with  indulgent  tenderness,  and 
weeps  over  it  as  Jesus  wept  over  Jerusalem.  Echoes 
of  the  Stoic  philosophers — Marcus  Aurelius,  Epic- 
tetus,  Seneca — will  undoubtedly  be  found  in  these* 
letters.  Indeed,  a  very  considerable  and  rather 
curious  parallel  has  been  drawn  between  Fenelon 
and  Seneca ;  which  only  shows  the  permanence  of 
the  principles  that  regulate  the  union  between  God 
and  the  soul  under  all  skies  and  creeds.  There  is  a 
close  similarity  between  these  letters  and  those  of 
Francis  of  Sales,  who  wrote  on  the  same  themes; 
for  the  two  saw  eye  to  eye.  The  effusions  of  either 
Francis,  although  adapted  primarily  to  a  different 


ao8  F^nei/)n:  The  Mystic 

communion  and  time,  can  be  recommended  almost 
unqualifiedly  to-day  to  that  small  class — it  will  al- 
ways be  a  small  class — who  set  themselves,  with 
an  aroused  intelligence,  a  high  appreciation  of  the 
nature  of  the  task  before  them,  and  an  intense  de- 
termination, to  realize,  through  all  available  and 
appointed  means,  the  closest  possible  approximation 
to  perfect  union  with  the  Divine. 

Our  criticisms  of  Fenelon's  letters  are  but  few, 
and  yet  a  little  note  of  warning  should  undoubtedly 
be  sounded.  No  one  should  read  them  who  is  not 
prepared  to  think  for  himself,  to  use  a  vigorous 
common-sense,  and  to  select  for  entire  observance 
only  those  precepts  which  commend  themselves  to 
his  mind  as  being  in  complete  accord  with  the  Scrip- 
ture and  with  the  most  judicious  of  other  spiritual 
advisers.  Almost  everything  he  finds  will,  we  be- 
lieve, thus  commend  itself.  But  there  will  be  an 
occasional  use  of  language  before  which  he  will 
pause  and  make  a  note  of  question  or  dissent.  There 
will  be  unguarded  expressions  which  need  explana- 
tion. Perhaps  the  chief  words  which  he  will  find 
cause  to  challenge  will  be  those  of  most  frequent  oc- 
currence— self  and  self-love.  Fenelon  does  not  use 
these  terms  quite  accurately,  and  whoever  takes 
them  literally  will  be  led  into  trouble.  Where  he 
says  self-love  he  almost  always  means  selfishness, 
which,  in  our  modern  nomenclature,  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent thing,  being  the  inordinate,  excessive,  or  for- 
bidden love  of  self,  such  a  regard  for  the  interests 


Thb  Spirituai.  Leitt^rs.  203 

and  rights  of  self  as  disregards  the  interests  and 
rights  of  other  people.  This  latter  is  always  wrong, 
of  course.  But  self-love,  strictly  speaking,  is  in 
itself  right,  perfectly  innocent,  and  of  great  im- 
portance to  retain.  It  is  essential  to  our  preserva- 
tion and  prosperity,  one  of  the  most  vital  ingredients 
in  our  constitution.  Fenelon,  we  think,  never  recog- 
nizes this  meaning  of  the  word,  never  seems  to 
know  that  we  have  very  important,  imperative  du- 
ties to  self,  as  well  as  to  our  neighbor  and  to  God. 
Either  he  was  not  familiar  with  these  distinctions  so 
common  in  ethics  now,  or  he  was  so  profoundly 
impressed  with  the  danger  of  overdoing  self-love 
that  he  did  not  deem  it  well  to  recognize  this  duty 
at  all.  But  that  surely  is  a  mistake,  and  with  some 
minds  tends  to  become  a  very  harmful  one,  leading 
straight  on  to  fanaticism. 

He  is  never  tired  of  insisting  on  the  absolute 
necessity  for  the  death  of  self,  the  destruction  of 
self.  But  this  phrase  will  not  stand  critical  ex- 
amination. The  peril  which  always  lurks  in  figures 
of  speech,  and  the  tendency  to  exaggerate  which  so 
frequently  besets  devotional  writers  of  the  intense 
mystic  type,  is  very  manifest  here.  Such  writers 
put  forward  their  extreme  statements  with  a  lauda- 
ble desire  to  make  a  deep  impression  on  the  callous 
sensibilities  of  the  average  reader,  and  with  the  idea, 
perhaps,  that  large  deduction  will  be  made  in  the 
practical  application  of  their  precepts.  But  many 
find  in  this  an  excuse  for  throwing  the  whole  sub- 


204  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

ject  impatiently  aside.  We  are  convinced  that  it  is 
better  in  such  things  to  state  the  exact  truth  with 
all  carefulness  and  with  as  few  misleading  figures 
of  speech  as  possible.  There  is  certainly  an  ethical 
limit  to  our  right  of  self-abnegation  and  self-impar- 
tation.  Benevolence  has  its  moral  bounds  in  holi- 
ness. A  man's  life  finds  its  largest  fulfillment,  not 
in  weakly  assimilating  itself  to  the  wishes  of  those 
around  it,  but  in  giving  forth  some  new  and  charac- 
teristic expression  of  the  life  of  God.  The  notions, 
or  even  the  needs,  of  one's  neighbors  are  not  the 
highest  standard  of  right  living.  Every  man  holds 
himself  in  trust  for  his  Creator,  and  must  do  his 
best  to  manifest  that  Creator,  not  necessarily  ac- 
cording to  the  conception  most  prevalent  in  his  im- 
mediate circle,  but  according  to  the  mandate  which 
has  been  laid  on  him.  It  is  this  thought  which  gives 
the  profoundest  value  to  his  existence  and  lifts  him 
above  too  great  dependence  on  popular  standards. 
And  it  is  this  thought,  properly  carried  out,  which 
shows  how  much  of  unreason  there  is  in  the  declara- 
tion that  self  must  be  totally  forgotten,  renounced, 
annihilated. 

No  person  is  justified  in  doing  anything  of  this 
sort.  Self-preservation  and  self-protection,  self- 
respect  and  self-esteem,  self-defense  and  self-de- 
velopment are  manifest  duties.  It  may  readily  be 
granted  that  they  are  not  in  any  great  danger  of 
neglect  from  the  ordinary  or  average  individtial. 
But  the  extraordinary  individual,  if  wrongly   in- 


Ths  Spiritual  Letters.  205 

structed,  filled  with  a  zeal  not  according  to  knowl- 
edge, keenly  conscientious,  morbidly  scrupulous, 
keyed  up  to  an  unnatural  pitch  and  straining  after 
an  impossible  ideal,  may  do  himself  much  harm  and 
go  far  astray.  To  overdo  is  often  as  bad  as  to  un- 
derdo, and  causes  undoing. 

Denunciations  of  selfishness  are  always  in  order, 
but  its  boundaries  are  not  so  easily  defined.  Self- 
love — the  instinctive  desire  or  tendency  that  leads 
one  to  seek  to  promote  his  own  well-being,  a  due 
care  for  one's  own  happiness,  essential  to  high  en- 
deavor and  perfectly  compatible  with  justice,  gen- 
erosity, and  benevolence — is  a  component  part  of 
our  nature,  and  must  be  carefully  safeguarded.  To 
talk  about  its  annihilation  or  eradication  is  to  talk 
foolishness ;  and  to  attempt  such  eradication  is  to  fly 
in  the  face  of  nature;  that  is,  of  God.  The  whole 
question,  then,  between  selfishness  and  self-love  is 
one  of  degree  and  adjustment  and  relative  rights. 
No  absolute  hard-and-fast  line  can  be  drawn.  One 
must  use  his  best  judgment,  enlightened  from  all 
possible  sources,  as  to  what  in  any  given  case  duty 
to  self  and  duty  to  others  demands.  And  that  judg- 
ment he  must  follow,  even  when  it  materially  dif- 
fers from  the  opinion  of  those  who  may  criticise  his 
conduct.  There  is  no  virtue  in  wasting  one's  self 
on  impossible  tasks.  Self-sacrifice  is  never  ethical 
if  it  be  a  willful  spending  of  self  to  no  purpose. 
One  may  do  a  serious  wrong  to  himself,  and  confer 
no  real  good  on  any  one  else,  by  following  the  lea4 


2o6  Fenelon:  The  Mystic. 

of  generous,  uncalculating,  unthinking  impulses. 
The  exhortation  never  to  think  about  one's  self  is 
thoroughly  mischievous,  and  can  only  lead  to  fanat- 
icism and  discouragement. 

Self-control,  not  self-annihilation  or  extirpation, 
is  the  duty  of  the  Christian.  A  man  has  perfect  self- 
control  when  his  highest  powers  hold  the  lower  in 
subjection  with  perfect  ease,  and  are  themselves  in 
complete  harmony  with  the  will  of  God.  He  is  per- 
fectly free  from  selfishness  who  gives  to  self  only 
that  degree  of  attention  and  care  which  is  due,  and 
in  no  way  infringes  on  any  of  the  rights  of  others. 
And  he  who  is  keenly  desirous  of  doing  this,  bear- 
ing in  mind  his  natural  bias  the  wrong  way,  will 
deem  it  the  safer  course  to  go  a  little  beyond  what 
may  seem  the  due  limit.  But  it  is  not  selfish  to  be 
manly,  or  to  insist  on  being  permitted  to  work  out 
one's  calling  according  to  the  clear,  conscious  sum- 
mons from  on  high.  Self-will  so  much  inveighed 
against  is  right,  since  it  is  a  necessary  component 
part  of  selfhood.  Without  self-will  and  self-con- 
sciousness there  can  be  no  self;  in  other  words,  we 
cease  to  be,  and  are  non-existent.  Masterfulness 
should  be  distinguished  from  willfulness  ;  the  former 
is  not  sinful,  but  a  most  desirable  thing  in  this  world 
where  leadership  is  so  essential  to  progress.  A  self- 
ish will,  one  at  any  point  divergent  from  the  will  of 
God,  so  far  as  we  know  or  can  ascertain,  is  always 
wrong.  To  tell  where  egoism  ends  and  altruism  be- 
gins in  our  relations  with  our  fellow-men  is  far  from 


The  Spirituai,  LErrieRS.  207 

easy ;  but  it  is  ever  blessed  to  become  absorbed  in  a 
great  cause,  and  supremely  noble  to  have'  as  the 
highest  object  in  life  the  glory  of  God. 

Some  exceptions  must  be  taken  to  a  few  other 
extreme  statements  of  Fenelon,  in  which  he  fol- 
lows other  mistaken  writers.  The  langtiage  of  such 
teachers  on  humility  is  overstrained  and  really 
false,  likely  to  do  harm.  Fenelon  says,  for  example  • 
"Those  who  are  truly  humble  always  take  the  low- 
est place,  rejoicing  when  they  are  despised,  and 
considering  every  one  superior  to  themselves.  We 
may  judge  of  the  advancement  we  have  in  humility 
by  the  delight  we  have  in  humiliation  and  con- 
tempt." His  motto  was,  "Ama  nesciri"— Love  to 
be  unknown.  Kempis  wrote  much  of  this  same  sort. 
And  John  Fletcher  of  Madeley  was  constantly  of- 
fering up  the  prayer  which  we  have  in  Charles  Wes- 
ley's couplet, 

"Make  me  little  and  unknown, 
Loved  and  prized  by  God  alone." 

To  desire  to  be  despised,  thought  meanly  of,  ac- 
counted as  naught,  we  can  not  recognize  as  a  fruit 
of  grace  in  a  healthy  mind  rightly  apprehensive  of 
the  vast  importance  to  usefulness  of  a  good  repu- 
tation. To  think  of  ourselves  more  highly  than  we 
ought  to  think  is  wrong,  but  so  is  it  wrong  to  think 
of  ourselves  less  highly  than  we  ought.  The  truth 
above  all  things,  facts  at  any  cost  whether  to  our- 
selves or  other  people,  is  the  better  attitude.     No 


ao8  Fenei^on:   The  Mystic 

gain  can  come  from  falsity  on  the  one  side,  any 
more  tlian  on  the  other.  To  deUght  unspeakably  in 
the  will  of  God,  even  when  it  involves  contempt 
from  those  who  misunderstand  our  position,  is  not 
the  same  as  delighting  in  contempt  itself.  To  insist 
on  the  lowest  place  when  our  recognized  and  lawful 
place  is  higher,  would  be  neither  wise  nor  edifying. 
Fenelon  himself  took  his  proper  place  as  archbishop 
in  the  cathedral  and  palace  and  elsewhere,  without 
diminution  from  his  humility.  He  showed  the  lat- 
ter in  his  hospital  work,  and  in  his  familiar  relations 
with  those  of  lower  rank. 

A  little  too  much  is  made  in  some  places  of  the 
importance  of  silence.  There  is  not  sufficient  recog- 
nition of  the  fact  that  some  are  in  great  danger  of 
speaking  too  little,  that  there  are  idle  silences  as 
well  as  idle  words.  The  stress  laid  upon  listening 
to  the  interior  voice  is  also  carried  somewhat  be- 
yond bounds,  and  needs  counterbalancing  by  the 
warning  that  it  is  very  easy  to  mistake  the  utter- 
ances of  our  own  spirits  for  those  of  the  Spirit  of 
God,  the  products  of  a  vain  imagination  for  the 
products  of  Divine  direction.  Many  have  been  sadly 
misled  at  this  point.  We  need  not  perhaps  specify 
other  strained  and  unbalanced  remarks.  There  arc 
not  many  of  them,  and  it  would  be  unjust  to  make 
too  much  of  them;  but  it  is  also  unsafe  to  ignore 
them  altogether.  The  letters  are  all  the  better  in 
that  they  demand  reflection  from  the  reader,  and 
pre  not  to  be  taken  up  in  a  wooden  way  as  though 


Th^  Spirituai,  L^ttsrs.  209 

they  were  infallible.  Properly  perused,  with  prayer 
and  meditation,  they  can  not  fail  to  be  of  immense 
service  to  the  inquiring  mind  and  the  devotional 
spirit.  There  is  nothing"  better  as  a  stimulus  to 
those  with  lofty  aspirations  seeking  for  guidance  as 
to  how  best  they  may  reach  the  heights. 

A  few  extracts  from  the  letters,  all  that  our 
space  permits,  are  furnished,  that  the  reader's  appe- 
tite may  be  whetted  for  the  feast  to  be  found  in 
larger  volumes^^  And  we  can  not  better  close  this 
unpretentious,  but  we  hope  useful,  little  book  than 
with  some  of  the  glowing  paragraphs  that  have 
already  done  so  much  good  in  the  world,  and  are 
destined  to  do  so  much  more  as  the  centuries  roll: 

Easy  Ways  op  Divine  Love. 
Christian  perfection  is  not  that  rigorous,  tedious, 
cramping  thing  that  many  imagine.  It  demands 
only  an  entire  surrender  of  everything  to  God,  from 
the  depths  of  the  soul;  and  the  moment  this  takes 
place,  whatever  is  done  for  Him  becomes  easy. 
They  who  are  God's  without  reserve  are  in  every 
state  content ;  for  they  will  only  what  He  wills,  and 
desire  to  do  for  Him  whatever  He  desires  them  to 
do.  They  strip  themselves  of  everything,  and  in 
this  nakedness  find  all  things  a  hundred-fold.  Peace 
of  conscience,  liberty  of  spirit,  the  sweet  abandon- 
ment of  themselves  and  theirs  into  the  hands  of 
God,  the  joy  of  perceiving  the  light  always  increas- 
ing in  their  hearts,  and,  finally,  the  freedom  of  their 

14 


2IO  FENEtoN:  The  Mystic 

souls  from  the  bondage  of  the  fears  and  desires  of 
this  world, — these  things  constitute  that  return  of 
happiness  which  the  true  children  of  God  receive  a 
hundred-fold  in  the  midst  of  their  crosses  while 
they  remain  faithful. 

What  God  requires  of  us  is  a  will  which  is  no 
longer  divided  between  Him  and  any  creature;  a 
simple  pliable  state  of  will,  which  desires  what  He 
desires,  rejects  nothing  but  what  He  rejects,  wills 
without  reserve  what  He  wills,  and  under  no  pre- 
text wills  what  He  does  not.  In  this  state  of  mind 
all  things  are  proper  for  us ;  our  amusements,  even, 
are  acceptable  in  His  sight. 

No  matter  what  crosses  may  overwhelm  the  true 
child  of  God,  he  wills  everything  that  happens,  and 
would  not  have  anything  removed  that  his  Father 
appoints;  the  more  he  loves  God,  the  more  is  he 
filled  with  content;  and  the  most  stringent  perfec- 
tion, far  from  being  a  burden,  only  renders  his  yoke 
the  lighter. 

The  Divine  Presence. 

The  true  source  of  all  our  perfection  is  con- 
tained in  the  command  of  God  to  Abraham,  "Walk 
before  me  and  be  thou  perfect."  (Gen.  xvii,  i.)  The 
presence  of  God  calms  the  soul,  and  gives  it  quiet 
and  repose,  even  during  the  day  and  in  the  midst 
of  occupation;  but  we  must  be  given  up  to  God 
without  reserve. 

Whenever  we  perceive  within  us  anxious  desire* 


Thb  Spirituai,  Letters.  211 

for  anything,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  find  that  na- 
ture is  hurrying  us  with  too  much  haste  to  do  what- 
ever is  to  be  done,  whether  it  be  to  say  something, 
see  something,  or  do  something,  let  us  stop  short 
and  repress  the  precipitancy  of  our  thoughts  and 
the  agitation  of  our  actions ;  for  God  has  said  that 
His  Spirit  does  not  dwell  in  disquiet. 

An  excellent  means  of  preserving  our  interior 
solitude  and  liberty  of  soul  is  to  make  it  a  rule  to 
put  an  end  at  the  close  of  every  action  to  all  reflec- 
tions upon  it,  all  reflex  acts  of  self-love,  whether 
of  a  vain  joy  or  sorrow. 

Let  us  be  accustomed  to  recollect  ourselves,  dur- 
ing the  day  and  in  the  midst  of  our  occupations,  by 
a  simple  view  of  God.  Let  us  silence  by  that  means 
all  the  movements  of  our  heart,  when  they  appear 
in  the  least  agitated.  Let  us  separate  ourselves  from 
all  that  does  not  come  from  God.  Let  us  suppress 
our  superfluous  thoughts  and  reveries.  Let  us  utter 
no  useless  word.  Let  us  seek  God  within  us,  and 
we  shall  find  Him  without  fail,  and  with  Him  joy 
and  peace. 

Let  us  be  careful  not  to  suffer  ourselves  to  be 
overwhelmed  by  the  multiplicity  of  our  exterior 
operations,  be  they  what  they  may.  Let  us  en- 
deavor to  commence  every  enterprise  with  a  pure 
view  to  the  glory  of  God,  continue  it  without  dis- 
traction, and  finish  it  without  impatience.  The  in- 
tervals of  relaxation  and  amusement  are  the  most 
dangerous  for  us,  and  perhaps  the  most  useful  for 


212  Feneu)n:  The  Mystic. 

others ;  we  must  then  be  on  our  guard  that  we  be  as 
faithful  as  possible  to  the  presence  of  God.  We  can 
never  employ  our  leisure  hours  better  than  in  re- 
freshing our  spiritual  strength  by  a  secret  and  in- 
timate communion  with  God.  Prayer  is  so  neces- 
sary and  the  source  of  so  many  blessings,  that  he 
who  has  discovered  the  treasure  can  not  be  pre- 
vented from  having  recourse  to  it  whenever  he  has 
an  opportunity. 

Independence. 

Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  get  excited  by  what  is 
said  about  you.  Let  the  world  talk.  Do  you  strive 
to  do  the  will  of  God ;  as  for  that  of  men,  you  would 
never  succeed  in  doing  it  to  their  satisfaction,  and 
it  is  not  worth  the  pains. 

Let  the  water  flow  beneath  the  bridge.  Let  men 
be  men ;  that  is  to  say,  weak,  vain,  inconsistent,  un- 
just, false,  and  presumptuous.  Let  the  world  be 
the  world  still;  you  can  not  prevent  it.  Let  every 
one  follow  his  own  inclination  and  habits:  you  can 
not  recast  them,  and  the  best  course  is  to  let  them 
be  as  they  are  and  bear  with  them.  Do  not  think  it 
strange  when  you  witness  unreasonableness  and  in- 
justice ;  rest  in  peace  in  the  bosom  of  God :  He  sees 
it  all  more  clearly  than  you  do,  and  yet  permits  it. 
Be  content  to  do  quietly  and  gently  what  it  becomes 
you  to  do,  and  let  everything  else  be  to  you  as 
though  it  were  not. 

As  long  as  the  world  is  anything  to  us,  so  long 


Thb  Spirituaiv  Letters.  213 

our  freedom  is  but  a  word,  and  we  are  as  easily 
captured  as  a  bird  whose  leg  is  fastened  by  a  thread. 
He  seems  to  be  free ;  the  string  is  not  visible,  but  he 
can  fly  only  its  length,  and  he  is  a  prisoner. 

Do  not  be  vexed  at  what  people  say.  Let  them 
speak  while  you  endeavor  to  do  the  will  of  God.  A 
little  silence,  peace,  and  communion  with  God  will 
compensate  you  for  all  the  injustice  of  men.  We 
must  love  our  fellow-beings  without  depending  on 
their  friendship.  They  leave  us,  they  return,  and 
they  go  from  us  again.  Let  them  go  or  come;  it 
is  the  feather  blown  about  by  the  wind.  Fix  your 
attention  upon  God  alone  in  your  connection  with 
them.  It  is  He  alone  who,  through  them,  consoles 
or  afflicts  you. 

Possess  your  soul  in  patience.  Renew  often 
within  you  the  feeling  of  the  presence  of  God,  that 
you  may  learn  mo'deration.  There  is  nothing  truly 
great  but  lowliness,  charity,  fear  of  ourselves,  and 
detachment  from  the  dominion  of  sense.  Accustom 
yourself  gradually  to  carry  prayer  into  your  daily 
occupations.  Speak,  move,  act  in  peace  as  if  you 
were  in  prayer.  Do  everything  without  eagerness 
as  if  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  As  soon  as  you  perceive 
your  natural  impetuosity  impelling  you,  retire  into 
the  sanctuary  where  dwells  the  Father  of  spirits ; 
listen  to  what  you  hear  there ;  and  then  neither  sa> 
nor  do  anything  but  what  He  dictates  in  your  heart. 
You  will  find  that  you  will  become  more  tranquil, 
that  your  words  will  be  fewer  and  more  to  the  pur- 


214  FeneivOn:  The  Mystic 

pose,  and  that  with  less  effort  you  will  accomplish 
more  good.  When  the  heart  is  fixed  on  God  it  can 
easily  accustom  itself  to  suspend  the  natural  move- 
ments of  ardent  feeling,  and  to  wait  for  the  favor- 
able moment  when  the  voice  within  may  speak.  This 
is  the  continual  sacrifice  of  self,  and  the  life  of 
faith. 

The  Faults  oe  Others. 

Perfection  is  easily  tolerant  of  the  imperfections 
of  others ;  it  becomes  all  things  to  all  men.  We 
must  not  be  surprised  at  the  greatest  defects  in  good 
souls,  and  must  quietly  let  them  alone  until  God 
gives  the  signal  of  gradual  removal;  otherwise  we 
,  shall  pull  up  the  wheat  with  the  tares. 

They  who  correct  others  ought  to  watch  the 
moment  when  God  touches  their  hearts ;  we  must 
bear  a  fault  with  patience  till  we  perceive  His  Spirit 
reproaching  them  within.  We  must  imitate  Him 
who  gently  reproves,  so  that  they  feel  that  it  is  less 
God  that  condemns  them  than  their  own  hearts. 
When  we  blame  with  impatience,  because  we  are 
displeased  with  the  fault,  it  is  a  human  censure  and 
not  the  disapprobation  of  God.  It  is  a  sensitive  self- 
love  that  can  not  forgive  the  self-love  of  others. 
The  more  self-love  we  have,  the  more  severe  our 
censures.  There  is  nothing  so  vexatious  as  the  col- 
lisions between  one  excessive  self-love  and  another 
still  more  violent  and  excessive.  The  passions  of 
others  are  infinitely  ridiculous  to  those  who  are 
under  the  dominion  of  their  own.     The  ways  of 


The;  Spiritual  Letters.  215 

God  are  very  different.  He  is  ever  full  of  kindness 
for  us;  He  gives  us  strength;  He  regards  us  with 
pity  and  condescension;  He  remembers  our  weak- 
ness ;  He  waits  for  us. 

I  am  very  sorry  for  the  imperfections  you  find 
in  human  beings,  but  you  must  learn  to  expect  but 
little  from  them;  this  is  the  only  security  against 
disappointment.  We  must  receive  from  them  what 
they  are  able  to  give  us,  as  from  trees  the  fruits 
that  they  yield.  God  bears  with  imperfect  beings 
even  when  they  resist  His  goodness.  We  ought  to 
imitate  this  merciful  patience  and  endurance.  It 
is  only  imperfection  that  complains  of  what  is  im- 
perfect. The  more  perfect  we  are,  the  more  gentle 
and  quiet  we  become  toward  the  defects  of  others. 

The  defects  of  our  neighbors  interfere  with  our 
own ;  our  vanity  is  wounded  by  that  of  another ;  our 
own  haughtiness  finds  our  neighbor's  ridiculous  and 
insupportable;  our  restlessness  is  rebuked  by  the 
sluggishness  and  indolence  of  this  person;  our 
gloom  is  disturbed  by  the  gayety  'and  frivolity  of 
that  person;  and  our  heedlessness  by  the  shrewd- 
ness and  address  of  another.  H  we  were  faultless 
we  should  not  be  so  much  annoyed  by  the  defects 
of  those  with  whom  we  associate.  If  we  were  to 
acknowledge  honestly  that  we  have  not  virtue 
enough  to  bear  patiently  with  our  neighbor's  weak- 
nesses, we  should  show  our  own  imperfection,  and 
this  alarms  our  vanity.  We  therefore  make  our 
w^eakness  pass  for  strength,  elevate  it  to  a  virtue. 


2i6  Feneu)n:  The  Mystic 

and  call  it  zeal.  For  it  is  not  surprising  to  see  how 
tranquil  we  are  about  the  errors  of  others  when  they 
do  not  trouble  us,  and  how  soon  this  wonderful  zeal 
kindles  against  those  who  excite  our  jealousy  or 
weary  our  patience. 

Not  Perfect  in  a  Moment. 

Neither  in  His  gracious  nor  providential  dealings 
does  God  work  a  miracle  lightly.  It  would  be  as 
great  a  wonder  to  see  a  person  full  of  self  become 
in  a  moment  dead  to  all  self-interest  and  all  sensi- 
tiveness as  it  would  be  to  see  a  slumbering  infant 
wake  in  the  morning  a  fully  developed  man.  God 
works  in  a  mysterious  way  in  grace  as  well  as  in 
nature,  concealing  His  operations  under  an  imper- 
ceptible succession  of  events,  and  thus  keeps  us  al- 
ways in  the  darkness  of  faith. 

He  makes  use  of  the  inconstancy  and  ingratitude 
of  the  creature,  and  of  the  disappointments  and 
surfeits  which  accompany  prosperity,  to  detach  us 
from  them  both.  All  this  dealing  appears  per- 
fectly natural,  and  it  is  by  this  succession  of  natural 
means  that  we  are  burnt  as  by  a  slow  fire.  We 
should  like  to  be  consumed  at  once  by  the  flames  of 
pure  love;  but  such  an  end  would  cost  us  scarce 
anything.  It  is  only  an  excessive  self-love  that  de- 
sires thus  to  become  perfect  in  a  moment,  and  at  so 
cheap  a  rate. 

We  cling  to  an  infinity  of  things  which  we  never 
suspect;  we  only  feel  that  they  are  a  part  of  us 


The  Spirituai,  Letters.  217 

when  they  are  snatched  away,  as  I  am  only  con- 
scious that  I  have  hairs  when  they  are  pulled  from 
my  head.  God  develops  to  us  little  by  little  what  is 
within  us,  of  which  we  are  until  then  entirely  ig- 
norant, and  we  are  astonished  at  discovering  in  our 
very  virtues  defects  of  which  we  should  never  have 
believed  ourselves  capable. 

God  spares  us  by  discovering  our  weakness  to 
us  in  proportion  as  our  strength  to  support  the  view 
of  it  increases.  We  discover  our  imperfections  one 
by  one  as  we  are  able  to  cure  them.  Without  this 
merciful  preparation  that  adapts  our  strength  to  the 
light  within,  we  should  be  in  despair. 

To  the  sincere  desire  to  do  the  will  of  God 
we  must  add  a  cheerful  spirit  that  is  not  overcome 
when  it  has  failed,  but  tries  again  and  again  to  do 
better ;  hoping  always  to  the  very  end  to  be  able  to 
do  it ;  bearing  with  its  own  involuntary  weakness  as 
God  bears  with  it;  waiting  with  patience  for  the 
moment  when  it  shall  be  delivered  from  it;  going 
straight  on  in  singleness  of  heart  according  to  the 
strength  that  it  can  command;  losing  no  time  by 
looking  back,  nor  making  useless  reflections  when  it 
falls,  which  can  only  embarrass  and  retard  its  prog- 
ress. The  first  sight  of  our  little  failings  should 
humble  us,  but  we  must  press  on ;  not  judging  our- 
selves with  a  Judaical  rigor ;  not  regarding  God  as 
a  spy  watching  for  our  least  offense,  or  as  an  enemy 
who  places  snares  in  our  path,  but  as  a  Father  who 
loves  and  wishes  to  save  us;  trusting  in  His  good- 


2i8  Fenew)n:  Ths  Mystic 

ness,  invoking  His  blessing,  and  doubting  all  other 
support.    This  is  true  liberty. 

HUMII^ITY. 

The  foundation  of  peace  with  all  men  is  humility. 
Pride  is  incompatible  with  pride;  hence  arise  divi- 
sions in  the  world.  We  must  stifle  all  rising  jeal- 
ousies; all  little  contrivances  to  promote  our  own 
glory ;  vain  desires  to  please  or  to  succeed,  or  to  be 
praised ;  the  fear  of  seeing  others  preferred  to  our- 
selves; the  anxiety  to  have  our  plans  carried  into 
effect;  the  natural  love  of  dominion  and  desire  to 
influence  others.  These  rules  are  soon  given,  but 
it  is  not  so  easy  to  observe  them.  With  some  people, 
not  only  pride  and  hauteur  render  these  duties  very 
difficult,  but  great  natural  sensitiveness  makes  the 
practice  of  them  nearly  impossible,  and,  instead  of 
respecting  their  neighbor  with  a  true  feeling  of 
humility,  all  their  charity  amounts  only  to  a  sort 
of  compassionate  toleration  that  nearly  resembles 
contempt. 

Humility  is  the  source  of  all  true  greatness; 
pride  is  ever  impatient,  ready  to  be  offended.  He 
who  thinks  nothing  is  due  to  him  never  thinks  him- 
self ill-treated ;  true  meekness  is  not  mere  tempera- 
ment, for  this  is  only  softness  or  weakness. 

There  is  no  true  and  constant  gentleness  without 
humility ;  while  we  are  so  fond  of  ourselves  we  are 
easily  offended  with  others.  Let  us  be  persuaded 
that  nothing  is  due  to  us,  and  then  nothing  will  dis- 


The  Spiritual  Letti;rs.  219 

turb  us.  Let  us  often  think  of  our  own  infirmities, 
and  we  shall  become  indulgent  toward  those  of 
others. 

Daily  Faults. 

Little  faults  become  great  in  our  eyes  in  propor- 
tion as  the  pure  light  of  God  increases  in  us,  just 
as  the  sun  in  rising  reveals  the  true  dimensions  of 
objects  which  were  dimly  and  confusedly  discov- 
ered during  the  night.  Be  sure  that,  with  the  in- 
crease of  the  inward  light,  the  imperfections  which 
you  have  hitherto  seen  will  be  beheld  as  far  greater 
and  more  deadly  in  their  foundations  than  you  now 
conceive  them,  and  that  you  will  witness,  in  addi- 
tion, the  development  of  a  crowd  of  others,  of  the 
existence  of  which  you  have  not  now  the  slightest 
suspicion.  You  will  find  the  weaknesses  necessary 
to  deprive  you  of  all  confidence  in  your  own 
strength ;  but  this  discovery,  far  from  discouraging, 
will  but  serve  to  destroy  your  self-reliance,  and  raze 
to  the  ground  the  edifice  of  pride. 

Our  faults,  even  those  most  difficult  to  bear,  will 
all  be  of  service  to  us  if  we  make  use  of  them  for 
our  humiliation  without  relaxing  our  efforts  to  cor- 
rect them.  We  must  bear  with  ourselves  without 
either  flattery  or  discouragement,  a  mean  seldom  at- 
tained. Utter  despair  of  ourselves,  in  consequence 
of  a  conviction  of  our  helplessness  and  unbounded 
confidence  in  God,  is  the  true  foundation  of  the 
spiritual  edifice. 

Discouragement  is  not  a  fruit  of  I  miility,  but 


220  Fene;lon:  The;  Mystic 

of  pride ;  nothing  can  be  worse.  Suppose  we  have 
stumbled,  or  even  fallen,  let  us  rise  and  run  again ; 
all  our  falls  are  useful  if  they  strip  us  of  a  disas- 
trous confidence  in  ourselves,  while  they  do  not  take 
away  a  humble  and  salutary  trust  in  God. 

Carefully  purify  your  conscience  from  daily 
faults;  suffer  no  sin  to  dwell  in  your  heart;  small 
as  it  may  seem,  it  obscures  the  light  of  grace,  weighs 
down  the  soul,  and  hinders  that  constant  communion 
with  Jesus  Christ  which  it  should  be  your  pleasure 
to  cultivate ;  you  will  become  lukewarm,  forget  God, 
and  find  yourself  growing  in  attachment  to  the 
creature.  The  great  point  is  never  to  act  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  inward  light,  but  be  willing  to  go  as 
far  as  God  would  have  us. 

Motives. 
God  does  not  so  much  regard  our  actions  as  the 
motives  of  love  from  which  they  spring,  and  the 
pliability  of  our  wills  to  His.  Men  judge  our  deeds 
by  their  outward  appearance ;  with  God,  that  which 
is  most  dazzling  in  the  eyes  of  men  is  of  no  account. 
What  He  desires  is  a  pure  intention,  a  will  ready 
for  anything  and  ever  pliable  in  His  hands,  and  an 
honest  abandonment  of  self;  and  all  this  can  be 
much  more  frequently  manifested  on  small  than  on 
extraordinary  occasions ;  there  will  also  be  much 
less  danger  from  pride,  and  the  trial  will  be  far 
more  searching.  Indeed,  it  sometimes  happens  that 
we  find  it  harder  to  part  with  a  trifle  than  with  an 


The  Spiritual  Letters.  221 

important  interest;  it  may  be  more  of  a  cross  to 
abandon  a  vain  amusement  than  to  bestow  a  large 
sum  in  charity. 

The  greatest  danger  of  all  consists  in  this,  that 
by  neglecting  small  matters  the  soul  becomes  ac- 
customed to  unfaithfulness.  We  grieve  the  Holy 
Spirit,  we  return  to  ourselves,  we  think  it  a  little 
thing  to  be  wanting  toward  God.  On  the  other 
hand,  true  love  can  see  nothing  small;  everything- 
that  can  either  please  or  displease  God  seems  to  be 
great.  Not  that  true  love  disturbs  the  soul  with 
scruples,  but  it  puts  no  limit  to  its  faithfulness;  it 
acts  simply  with  God;  and  as  it  does  not  concern 
itself  about  those  things  which  God  does  not  re- 
quire from  it,  so  it  never  hesitates  an  instant  about 
those  which  He  does,  be  they  great  or  small. 

True  Prayer. 
True  prayer  is  only  another  name  for  the  love  of 
God.  To  pray  is  to  desire — ^but  to  desire  what  God 
would  have  us  desire.  He  who  asks  what  he  does 
not  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  desire,  is  mistaken 
in  thinking  that  he  prays.  O  how  few  there  are  who 
pray ;  for  how  few  are  they  who  desire  what  is  truly 
good!  Crosses,  external  and  internal  humiliation, 
renouncement  of  our  own  wills,  the  death  of  self, 
and  the  establishment  of  God's  throne  upon  the 
ruins  of  self-love, — these  are  indeed  good.  Not  to 
desire  these  is  not  to  pray ;  to  desire  them  seriously, 
soberly,  constantly,  and  with  reference  to  all  the 


222  Fenelon:  The  Mystic 

details  of  life, — ^this  is  true  prayer.  Alas!  how 
many  souls  full  of  self  and  of  an  imaginary  desire 
for  perfection  in  the  midst  of  hosts  of  voluntary 
imperfections,  have  never  yet  uttered  this  true 
prayer  of  the  heart !  It  is  in  reference  to  this  that 
St.  Augustine  says,  "He  that  loveth  little,  prayeth 
little ;  he  that  loveth  much,  prayeth  much." 

Our  intercourse  with  God  resembles  that  with 
a  friend;  at  first  there  are  a  thousand  things  to  be 
told  and  as  many  to  be  asked ;  but  after  a  time  these 
diminish,  while  the  pleasure  of  being  together  does 
not.  Everything  has  been  said,  but  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  each  other,  of  feeling  that  one  is  near  the 
other,  of  reposing  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  pure  and 
sweet  friendship,  can  be  felt  without  conversation; 
the  silence  is  eloquent  and  mutually  understood. 
Each  feels  that  the  other  is  in  perfect  sympath} 
with  him,  and  that  their  two  hearts  are  incessantly 
poured  out  into  each  other,  and  constitute  but  one. 

Those  who  have  stations  of  importance  to  fill 
have  generally  so  many  indispensable  duties  to  per- 
form that,  without  the  greatest  care  in  the  manage- 
ment of  their  time,  none  will  be  left  to  be  alone  with 
God.  If  they  have  ever  so  little  inclination  to  dis- 
sipation, the  hours  that  belong  to  God  and  their 
neighbor  disappear  altogether.  We  must  be  firm 
in  observing  our  rules.  This  strictness  seems  ex- 
cessive, but  without  it  everything  falls  into  con- 
fusion ;  we  become  dissipated,  relaxed,  and  lose 
strength;  we  insensibly  separate  from  God,  surren- 


The;  Spiritual  Letters.  223 

der  ourselves  to  all  our  pleasures,  and  only  then  be- 
gin to  perceive  that  we  have  wandered  when  it  is 
almost  hopeless  to  think  of  endeavoring  to  return. 

The  Human  WilIv. 

True  virtue  and  pure  love  reside  in  the  will 
alone.  The  question  is  not,  What  is  the  state  of 
our  feelings?  But,  What  is  the  condition  of  our 
will?  Let  us  will  to  have  whatever  we  have,  and 
not  to  have  whatever  we  have  not.  We  would  not 
even  be  delivered  from  our  sufferings,  for  it  is 
God's  place  to  apportion  to  us  our  crosses  and  our 
joys.  In  the  midst  of  affliction  we  rejoice,  as  did 
the  apostles;  but  it  is  not  joy  of  the  feelings,  joy  of 
the  will.  The  faithful  soul  has  a  will  which  is  per- 
fectly free ;  it  accepts  without  questioning  whatever 
bitter  blessings  God  develops,  wills  them,  loves  them, 
and  embraces  them;  it  would  not  be  freed  from 
them  if  it  could  be  accomplished  by  a  simple  wish; 
for  such  a  wish  would  be  an  act  originating  in  self 
and  contrary  to  its  abandonment  to  Providence ;  and 
it  is  desirous  that  this  abandonment  should  be  abso- 
lutely perfect. 

The  important  question  is,  not  how  much  you 
enjoy  religion,  but  whether  you  will  whatever  God 
wills.  The  essence  of  virtue  consists  in  the  atti- 
tude of  the  will.  That  kingdom  of  God  which  is 
within  us  consists  in  our  willing  whatever  God 
wills,  always,  in  everything,  without  reservation. 
Thus  nothing  can  ever  come  to  pass  against  our 


224  FeneIvOn:  The;  Mystic. 

wishes;  for  nothing  can  happen  contrary  to  the 
will  of  God.  The  interior  life  is  the  beginning  of 
the  blessed  peace  of  the  saints,  who  eternally  cry, 
Amen,  Alleluia!  We  adore,  we  praise,  we  bless 
God  in  everything;  we  see  Him  incessantly,  and 
in  all  things  His  paternal  hand  is  the  sole  object  of 
our  contemplation.  There  are  no^  longer  any  evils ; 
for  even  the  most  terrible  that  can  come  upon  us 
work  together  for  our  good.  Can  the  suffering  that 
God  designs  to  purify  us  and  make  us  worthy  of 
Himself  be  called  an  evil? 

Happy  is  he  who  never  hesitates ;  who  fears  only 
that  he  follows  with  too  little  readiness ;  who  would 
rather  do  too  much  against  self  than  too  little. 
Blessed  is  he  who,  when  asked  for  a  sample,  boldly 
presents  his  entire  stock  and  suffers  God  to  cut 
from  the  whole  cloth.  It  is  thought  that  this  state 
is  a  painful  one.  It  is  a  mistake ;  here  is  peace  and 
liberty;  here  the  heart,  detached  from  everything, 
is  immeasurably  enlarged,  so  as  to  become  illimita- 
ble; nothing  cramps  it;  and,  in  accordance  with 
the  promise,  it  becomes,  in  a  certain  sense,  one  with 
God  Himself. 

True  progress  does  not  consist  in  a  multitude  of 
views,  nor  in  austerities,  trouble,  and  strife;  it  is 
simply  willing  nothing  and  everything,  without 
reservation  and  choice,  cheerfully  performing  each 
day's  journey  as  Providence  appoints  it  for  us: 
seeking  nothing,  refusing  nothing,  finding  every- 
thing in  the  present  moment,  and  suffering  God, 


The  Spirituai.  Letters.  225 

who  does  everything,  to  do  His  pleasure  in  and  by 
us  without  the  sUghtest  resistance. 


Various  Advices. 

You  may  be  exercised  in  self-renunciation  in 
every  event  of  every  day. 

Peace  in  this  life  springs  from  acquiescence  even 
in  disagreeable  things,  not  in  an  exemption  from 
suffering. 

Whoever  will  refuse  nothing  which  comes  in 
the  order  of  God,  and  seek  nothing  out  of  that  or- 
der, need  never  fear  to  finish  his  day's  work  with- 
out partaking  of  the  cross  of  Jesus  Christ.  There 
is  an  indispensable  providence  for  crosses  as  well 
as  for  the  necessaries  of  life ;  they  are  a  part  of  our 
daily  bread ;  God  will  never  suffer  it  to  fail. 

A  life  of  faith  produces  two  things:  First,  it 
enables  us  to  see  God  in  everything;  secondly,  it 
holds  the  mind  in  a  state  of  readiness  for  whatever 
may  be  His  will.  This  continual,  unceasing  de- 
pendence on  God,  this  state  of  entire  peace  and  ac- 
quiescence of  the  soul  in  whatever  may  happen,  is 
the  true  silent  martyrdom  of  self. 

With  the  exception  of  sin,  nothing  happens  in 
this  world  out  of  the  will  of  God.  It  is  He  who  is 
the  author,  ruler,  and  bestower  of  all ;  He  has  num- 
bered the  hairs  of  our  head,  the  leaves  of  every  tree, 

15 


226  Fenelon  :   The  Mystic. 

the  sand  upon  the  seashore,  and  the  drops  of  the 
ocean. 

This  is  the  whole  of  religion:  to  get  out  of  self 
in  order  to  get  into  God. 

To  be  a  Christian  is  to  be  an  imitator  of  Jesus 
Christ.  In  what  can  we  imitate  Him  if  not  in  his 
humiliation?  Nothing  else  can  bring  us  near  to 
Him.  We  may  adore  Him  as  omnipotent,  fear  Him 
as  just,  love  Him  with  all  our  heart  as  good  and 
merciful,  but  we  can  only  imitate  Him  as  humble, 
submissive,  poor,  and  despised. 

What  men  stand  most  in  need  of  is  the  knowl- 
edge of  God.  It  is  not  astonishing  that  men  do  so 
little  for  God,  and  that  the  little  which  they  do  costs 
them  so  much.  They  do  not  know  Him ;  scarcely  do 
they  believe  that  He  exists.  If  He  were  known  He 
would  be  loved. 

Thou  causest  me  clearly  to  understand  that 
Thou  makest  use  of  the  evils  and  imperfections  of 
the  creature  to  do  the  good  which  Thou  hast  de- 
termined beforehand.  Thou  concealest  Thyself 
under  the  importunate  visitor  who  intrudes  upon  the 
occupation  of  Thy  impatient  child,  that  he  may 
learn  not  to  be  impatient,  and  that  he  may  die  to  the 
gratification  of  being  free  to  study  or  work  as  he 
pleases.  Thou  availest  Thyself  of  slanderous 
tongues  to  destroy  the  reputation  of  Thine  innocent 
children,  that,  besides  their  innocence,  they  may 


Thb  Spirituai,  Letters.  227 

offer  Thee  the  sacrifice  of  their  too  highly  cherished 
reputation.  By  the  cunning  artifices  of  the  envious 
Thou  layest  low  the  fortunes  of  those  whose  hearts 
were  too  much  set  upon  their  prosperity.  Thus 
Thou  mercifully  strewest  bitterness  over  everything 
that  is  not  Thyself,  to  the  end  that  our  hearts, 
formed  to  love  Thee  and  to  exist  upon  Thy  love, 
may  be,  as  it  were,  constrained  to  return  to  Thee  by 
a  want  of  satisfaction  in  everything  else. 


"  O  't  is  enough  whate'er  befall, 
To  know  that  God  is  all  in  all. 
'Tis  this  which  makes  my  treasure, 

*Tis  this  which  brings  my  gain; 
Converting  woe  to  pleasure, 
And  reaping  joy  from  pain." 

Madame  Guyon. 

"  There  are  in  the  loud-stunning  tide 
Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 

Of  the  everlasting  chime, 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 
Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart; 
Plying  their  daily  task  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat." 

Keble. 


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